Courting Sin
by Leni
Summary: BAus, alternate after Passion. But all the while you're thinking: It's more your fault than mine. You never think to blame him.
1. Courting Sin aka: MommaFic

**DISCLAIMER:** The bodycount? All mine.  
**GENRE:** ---chuckles--- Romance? It's B/Aus, shouldn't it be a genre by itself?  
**RATING:** R.  
**WORDCOUNT:** 13710  
**QUOTE:** "We aren't the ones to be afraid of." X-men

**SUMMARY:** Rewrite after 'Passion'. There are two stories I've wanted to write since I began to write fanfiction: A) What if Angel never lost his soul – and wasn't in danger to lose it? B) What would have to happen for Buffy and Angelus to get together in S2? This is option B.

**DEDICATION:** For Lucey. This is not the birthday gift I promised her (there was a small timing problem with that one. Who'd have thought KBD came _after_ Passion?). But I hope she enjoys it anyway! ---HUGS---

**THANK YOU:** to Sharon and Matt for the excellent beta-work. And I mean _excellent_. I don't know what I'd done without you, guys! Kristi for the encouragement and the title. You should have seen me dance when she found the title I wanted. Also, to Rachel, for creating moviequoteminis (Ljcomm). One quote was how the story started, which is sorta funny when you know who says that quote in this story. LOL. And to everyone who answered the questions I kept posting at my LJ. ---hugs---

19/12/05: **Thank you,** Maren for the beautiful artwork. It's amazing!

Very special thanks to Chrislee for running the IWRY ---hugs--- 30 days of B/A stories, that's a month I like.

**FEEDBACK:** You write Me happy.

* * *

**COURTING SIN  
**_by Leni_

* * *

It begins with a gravestone. Janna Kalderash, it should say. A name you'd never seen for the woman you'd never really known. You lay the flowers on the ground, crowning each petal with a real tear. But all the while you're thinking: _It's more your fault than mine_.

You never think to blame him.

---

Later there is a truth you must face, and Giles happens to be your first confidant. He is also the first to crack, so you guess it's only fair.

Angel is dead to you, and the words flow easily past your mouth. You loved, you lost and it's over now.

Giles's pride is awkward and ill-timed, and maybe that's for the best. A Watcher's pride is for the Slayer who walks through fire, and you're the kind that loves burning in the hottest flames.

---

It's never over.

But that second truth hasn't crossed your mind yet.

---

You kill him a thousand times every night.

You hunt the tall ones, the dark-haired ones, the ones who smile at love-struck girls as if they'd bring the moon to them. As they explode into ash, you picture him blowing up. Your stake in his chest, his eyes locked with yours. He'll hate you in that moment more than you're hating him now.

You'll kill him for real when your breath stops catching at the thought.

---

The word 'computer' has been banned from the library.

You never mention that the machine was never that familiar to the goings-on of this room.

---

Drusilla is catching butterflies in the park. It's the first time you've seen her since the mall. You can see her again, her petite figure against his. Dark against dark, and they fit so perfectly together. Creation and creator, worship and obsession. Love had never looked so well on him.

In reality that's when you first hated him, when you realised there'd been whole worlds beyond the facets he'd let you see.

Red is all you see now, and your eyes close against the haze. You'll make her pay. Unconsciously your fingers tighten around the wood they're holding, but when you open your eyes, the vampiress is gone.

---

He's sending chocolate now. Daily boxes that your mother watches parade past with something new in her eyes.

Worry, she'd say. If she said anything. Mistrust, is what you're calling it. At least it's a step above fear. Now you aren't the juvenile delinquent heading for jail, you're just the misled teenager who fell for the wrong guy.

Sometimes you wish you could scream he was the best boyfriend ever. But with no proof, there'd be no point.

Add another mark to the debts Angel owes you.

---

A push, a strike, a slice.

You duck, don't roll and wait.

A jump, a stake, a scream.

It's victory, your victory.

Somewhere there's a lonely round of applause to celebrate it. You can't help but feel smug at a fellow hunter's praise. There must be something wrong in it; good girls don't pride themselves of their hunting abilities. Good girls don't hunt at all. But you _are_ proud, almost basking in his approval.

Maybe this is the one hold Angel still has on you.

Wrong choice.

_This_ is just your nature. The hold, you still have to find out.

---

Spike is still in that wheelchair. Broken and useless, he'd be better off dead.

On some nights you see them, Drusilla pushing his chair along the streets. Angel often walks besides them, throwing mocking jibes at the invalid. In those moments you don't feel like interrupting. For every offence Spike did to you, this is justice.

But then Angel grabs Drusilla by the waist and twirls her until they're kissing right in front of the wheelchair. That's when you know your eyes and Spike's flash with the same sentiment. Only the thought of squeezing Drusilla's heart between your hands stops you from a suicidal charge.

For Angel, you still haven't found a punishment harsh enough.

---

Giles is looking at you in the eye again. He hasn't forgone shaving once this week and he's even stopped glancing up hopefully every time the door opens.

So that is closure.

You wonder what the signs were in your case.

Were there any at all?

---

Your mother screams at you for arriving home late again.

_I was just saving the pre-schoolers from a hungry D'gast, mom._ The words choke in your throat, but you've seen what your secret does to others. You love your mother too much for that. Instead you slam the bedroom door like the brat you aren't and turn up your stereo as high as it'll go.

Your mother steps - barges - in only to say you're grounded. She could have added you're disappointing her, too. You hear it between the lines anyway.

You could have laughed, but you just choose a spot at your windowsill, maybe the same one where you used to welcome him with a kiss. Once upon a time, you didn't care; you just waited for him to appear at your window and make everything all right again. Once upon a time, you didn't need to leave this room to be happy.

Now it feels like any other place in Sunnydale: oppresive, uncomprehensible and so very _empty_. You look out of the window without really seeing anything, never expecting time to turn back.

---

But you do see something.

That's the first night you notice the shadow across the street.

---

You hate hospitals.

You hate the probing doctors. You hate the flu and the drowsiness of fever.

At least he brought you flowers, or so Xander claims. You never see those, but you find red roses waiting in your own bed after you finally check out.

Vampires can't come in, but their gifts do. You can picture him standing at your window, where he once waited for you to finish dinner and come to your room, and aiming the flowers directly to the middle of your bed. You lift them, never caring for the sharp thorns, and find a small envelope in it. The card says it's his turn now. You avoid the window for the next week.

---

The girl actually faints when she sees Angel's changed face. You could have pitied her, if you weren't so busy driving him away from her unconscious body. You don't even notice he's changed back to his human features until late into the fight, when he blows a kiss at you before jumping away from your hit and disappearing into the shadows. Your priority is to tend the wounded and he knows it. Bastard.

The girl awakes easily and is too eager to believe the first story that occurs to you. It worries you a little when she lifts her hand to rub her neck carefully, but she just giggles and shows you the recent hickey.

You don't offer the usual walk back home.

---

If anger were water, you'd be drowning deep in it.

---

Xander says that you aren't trying hard enough, that Angel is a threat too great to let him survive another night.

As if you didn't know that.

He also carries your backpack around school and happily shares Cordelia's dirty secrets. You feel a little sorry for the brunette, flush at the guilty thought and keep on smiling.

Xander always said too much.

---

There is a line between friendship and censure.

Or maybe one does really include the other.

Lots of opposite feelings seem to include each other lately.

---

You sit at your windowsill every night.

One time you bring out all the untouched chocolate boxes, open them and begin throwing each piece onto the top of the tree. You shred the cardboard in little pieces and repeat everything.

You don't expect to draw him out that easily.

You don't care.

You'll ignore your mother's anxious reaction in the morning.

---

Willow says nothing. If she were any more careful people would really start believing you're made out of eggshells. She trembles slightly every time your boyfriend's name is mentioned, and Oz's look as he hugs her betrays how worried about his girlfriend he is.

You'd feel a lot better if the accusations were tangible.

Maybe that's why you haven't snapped at Xander yet.

---

The chocolates have stopped. There's a pint of your favourite ice-cream at your window waiting for you to wake up. It's melted now, but the flavour remains. Different but the same. There's no hidden meaning in it, you tell yourself.

His last card promised 'soon'. This one says 'Not yet.'

Before he used to keep his word. You forget it's a good thing he doesn't in this case.

---

You were never a girl of words. You prefer to act out.

That night you leave your lights on and the shower running as you slip quietly out of your house. Rarely have you been so concentrated in your role before. Something feels wrong as you pounce on your victim, beginning with the fact that he's letting himself be pounced upon. A second later everything's explained by the unknown face before you.

Some barely risen fledging. He lets it slip that Revello Drive has been his spot for weeks.

Some barely risen fledging. Another joke and you fell right into it. The vampire tries to fight, but he's too young and you're too indignant for his weak attempts to work. Disappointed? No. Disappointment can never measure against your outrage.

---

The next morning you smile at a guy in your Chemistry class.

He smiles back.

---

The next night you kiss Angel again.

He kisses you back.

You're both under a spell.

---

Giles says that forgiveness isn't for the deserving, but for the needful. You don't ask if Jenny will really need it in death, and you won't say she's the only one left to forgive.

You forgave your boyfriend the moment you lost him. Tough luck he isn't here to forgive you.

---

But Angel's kiss is still Angel's kiss.

Tucked in your bed, you lick your lips a thousand times to erase the feeling.

Your tongue is only a pale imitation.

---

A shift in reality.

Once this kiss would have given you pause. Your feelings created a barrier between you and your duty. Instead, now you take it as a betrayal of the memories of love.

To heal all wounds, Angel has to die. He loved you so much; he'd _want_ you to move on.

You owe him that, at least.

---

You hear your mother crying softly inside her room.

You wonder if she'll cry harder at your funeral.

---

Drusilla is playing hopscotch in the playground.

Ten for Spike, she sings. Twenty mouths of hell, and thirty. Forty for my angel, fifty in his return. Sixty through ninety, you don't want to hear. She whips around at the tenth block, and points in your exact direction. "Bad girl! Crashing my party again, bad!"

That's what you intended to do right now. One against one would be fair. But something in her words stops you; you get the feeling she isn't referring to this moment and place.

You choose to forget that encounter.

---

You brush against the Chemistry guy during lunch. He gives you his name in a note passed during the next class. Ryan. Ryan is a good name, you think. It doesn't imply protection and goodness. Later he carries your bag around the school all day. He finds you at the Bronze, convinces you to dance to a couple songs and kisses you goodnight at your doorstep.

Your mother breathes in relief. Xander eyes him distrustingly while Willow smiles in satisfaction.

You don't tell them it's just a test.

You don't tell yourself who it is you're really testing.

---

Angel passes. With honours.

He acts too quickly for you to prepare the necessary contingencies. Did he see you two dancing? Did he see you two kissing? Or did he just see you two talking? Anything is possible with Angel; you knew that before letting Ryan fancy a murderous vampire's ex girlfriend. But you never realised that Angel was already watching; you'd have never let the boy out of your sight otherwise.

You made Ryan bait but didn't take care of him. Guilty as sin, and you feel like it. You wonder if Angel even thought that you look awful in black.

---

The three of you attend Ryan's funeral with circles under your eyes. Willow cries a little; Xander stares unblinkingly at the coffin. When their looks are about to settle on you, you decide to let the tears fall. It's always real tears at every graveyard.

You place down some baby's breath, for innocence.

In conclusion, it's unfair that forgiveness has an expiration date in death. You'll just have to add Ryan to the list.

---

You say aloud it was coincidence.

Giles purses his lips and locks himself in his office. Willow still sniffles every few minutes, but now she's helping Xander carve new stakes.

None of them wonders why you aren't in the dating pool anymore.

---

"I hate you," you murmur every time your stake finds heart's blood.

You didn't know any of them in life; don't care for them in death. You're back to role-playing, and when your breath doesn't catch, you know it's time.

---

To heal all wounds, Angel has to die. To do it soon, you'll have no qualms in playing dirty.

It's quid pro quo. Except that you don't joke around.

---

Your mother has been throwing all your presents in the trash, so you'll have to buy your own chocolates for this night.

You open the window for the first time in weeks and move to sit at the edge, legs dangling free under you. The wind whips against your hair and face, but you let it play as you slowly take each sweet into your mouth. You have all night for this, and you make sure to let the spectacle last late into the night.

---

'Pushy', his next message says, peeking between the books in your locker. A presentation card announcing his visit.

Score, you think. He'll come to you.

You burn the slip of paper with a smile on your face. You grin all through your Chemistry class. Cordelia says you have no shame.

She is right.

---

He fell for it. Hook, line and sinker.

You forget that Angel was probably playing these games long before that saying was invented.

---

That day you hear Drusilla's song in the back of your head.

Sixty. "The saints will weep and eat you whole."

Let them.

Seventy. "The dancers are in place. Lightning will play their song."

You'll dance along.

Eighty. "Good intentions are all it took. We won't notice until our soles peel away in the heat."

You'll buy new shoes.

Ninety. "We don't see it. We don't know it. But the world has changed and the saints will weep."

You've changed the world a hundred times since you took the Slayer's mantle, and it still stays the same. Drusilla is nuts, that's all there is to it. She's right in one thing only: It may be her party, but it's Angel who handed you the invitation.

---

The night, a crossbow, a graveyard. The perfect moment for a first meeting.

He appears at your back from thin air, grabs your elbow to turn you around. You use the momentum to kick him, hard, and your lips lift when he snarls in anger. "Not so easy," you quip, keeping alert to the reactions crossing his face. It settles on amusement, your challenge taken as he stands back up.

"Yes, you are." He charges against you, and you let him hold you tight in his grip. "Told you," he whispers against the nape of your neck. You smirk and feel the caress of the stake hidden between a sleeve and your wrist.

"Told _you_," you retort and move to sink it deep in his chest. Victory, your mind screams.

In vain.

Victory is a millisecond too late when he catches your hand, squeezes until the sound of wood against ground reaches you. "So young. So... stupid." He leans his forehead against the back of your head, kisses your hair oh so softly. The position doesn't bring back any memories.

He's gone before you can convince yourself.

---

You jump at every noise at school. Willow says you're too touchy; Giles considers that you're too pale. You have to apologise and take vitamins, each at least five times every day.

You were so resolved a few days ago. You wonder how he managed to strip you of your courage so quickly.

---

You walk with your head down for days, trying to ignore which funerals are his fault. After a while, even Oz looks at you in pity, because you have a broken, broken heart. Everybody tiptoes around you to satisfy your need for space. Sweet, but foolish.

What you have is a missed chance. You were so close (he was so close) that you could almost feel it (you could breathe him in again).

What you need is freedom. And he isn't gentleman enough to grant that wish.

---

That evening you find yourself sitting at Jenny's tomb. You tell her nothing, just look on as the grass dries and dies at her gravestone. Tit for tat, you confide to the poisonous powder before sticking it back into the cleaning supplies cabinet.

---

Your friends say you go out too little. Giles complains that he can't patrol with you every night. It's too soon for round two, but you don't tell them about that.

You kinda forgot to tell them about the first one.

---

There's no forewarning this time. One moment you're brushing the ash off your clothes, the next you're back first on the sidewalk.

Wrists pinned to the ground, legs helplessly bounded together. This is it, you think. This is the end.

It's not.

His touch on your cheek is gentle, but when he turns your chin up, the look in his eyes is anything but. "You surprise me." He looks amused when you redouble your efforts to free yourself. "Tsk. You came to me first, remember?" Funny, you remember thinking it was the other way around. "I wonder, if I dig deep in your little head, what will I find?"

You shut your lips tight and refuse to answer. Mostly because you aren't sure yourself.

He moves his hand to caress your hair, your forehead, between your eyes and down your nose. He strokes your lips firmly, before continuing past your chin, along your neck and stops at your shirt's low neckline. He follows the cloth's edge with a single finger, then stops and studies you carefully. He nods at whatever he finds in your expression, disappears back into darkness. It takes you a minute to untie the knot at your ankles, but a few hours to shake yourself enough to get up and walk home.

He's going crazy, isn't he?

You never wanted this.

---

Your mother takes you shopping that weekend. To L.A. A late treat for your SAT scores. You even believe it until she mentions the school counsellor and a recommended appointment with a psychiatrist. She has been worried about you since that nice boy died, she says.

You walk in a daze through the whole afternoon. In return, you choose the priciest items.

It isn't enough. But it'll have to do.

---

Back home, you discover a small box in your shopping bag. A thin silver chain, a charm that matches the ring you won't wear.

'Happy Late Birthday. Me.'

You don't believe him, either.

---

It's just jewelry, you tell yourself as you fasten the necklace. You hide the heart and hands under your shirt, but the crown keeps peeking above it. Enough to make Willow notice it. She asks at lunch if you need to talk, or not talk, or maybe punch something really hard?

You love Willow in that moment. Because of that love, you don't tell her what it is you need.

---

You avoid him for days. This thing the two of you have, it can't be healthy. You concentrate on the demon gangs at the docks, the cat-hunters hiding near the beach. Anything but vampires.

On the fifth night, a fledging practically steps into your stake. "He says you're the _vampire_ Slayer," he relies Angel's message. Over his ashes you answer that his turn will come soon enough.

You know he's listening in the background.

---

The shrink is younger than your mother made you believe. Dr. Black is fun, she's cool and she actually seems interested in you.

You use a lot of euphemisms for your problems. You caress the small charm all through the session.

She finally tells you that there are many cases like yours. You chuckle, but you feel touched. This 'one girl' thing can get tiring. You like her enough to advise her not to go out at night. She frowns, scribbles one last thing on her notebook but doesn't really listen to you.

You shrug and make a note yourself: There are wildflowers on her desk.

---

Two of your classmates are found dead in the school library one morning. There are red rose petals thrown around them in a perfect heart.

A suicidal couple, the police determine.

Giles is too upset to make any declarations.

---

The only declaration involved is Angel's.

He's waiting.

---

You wear the necklace for patrol. It drives the vampires away more effectively than the cross ever did. You never thought Angel had this kind of influence until you spend four hours hunting with no prey in sight. Your grip on your weapons bag tightens, and you get out a single stake as you abruptly change directions. He wants you for himself? Fine! You'll take this personally to him.

But the stake clatters against the ground when you peek through one of the windows at the mansion. A wheelchair is empty in the middle of the room. Spike stands next to it. Angel isn't aware of this development; you know that for a fact. Your first instinct is to warn him, but then you remember you owe him no loyalty. Do you?

He's going crazy. And taking you right along with him.

---

Dr. Black talks about peer pressure, teen hormones and kids of divorced parents. That you're an only child doesn't help, she adds at last.

You nod at everything and try not to smirk. No, that you are the 'only one' really doesn't help.

---

Drusilla is leaning above a small body in a garden. You see the ruined bright-coloured clothes, the clenched little fists. So small, so pale, this you cannot allow. She's too entranced drinking to notice your approach.

Wrong.

When you're close enough, Drusilla raises her head and laughs. "You kill his and he'll kill yours."

There's only one 'he' you two could coincide about. You'd been wondering why Willow and Xander had been spared; now you know there'll be many things you'll allow.

You leave to place another anonymous call to 911, but this time you stay nearby to watch them pick up the child.

Sometimes you really hate your life.

---

"You left without knocking." He waves the forgotten stake playfully before casting it in your direction.

You catch it effortlessly. "Spike's back on his feet. Aren't you glad?"

He frowns, leaves without another word. You twirl the silver chain around your fingers and smile. It's not about loyalty; it's divide and conquer.

It's not your fault that the concepts overlap in this case.

---

You find a white rose in your locker the next morning. If you bothered to look it up, you'd find out that it says 'thank you' in the language of flowers.

You throw it in the first trashcan on your way to Algebra.

---

Your mother kisses your cheek before dropping you at the psychiatrist's office. You hope Dr. Black is giving her some hope.

She won't be getting any from your end.

---

Xander wonders where you disappear to every Tuesday and Friday afternoon. You tell him you have a pencilled date with an older woman.

He slaps your shoulder laughingly and loudly declares that you're something else.

Did it really take him this long to notice?

---

Dr. Black talks about life goals, useless school hierarchy and SAT scores. "You should start thinking of the future," she says.

All you see...

No.

All you want...

_No. _

Dr. Black thinks there's finally been a breakthrough when a lonely tear falls down your cheek.

Ill-timed memories, that's all it is.

---

The next time you find Drusilla, she immediately changes into her game face, baring her fangs at you. "You!"

You step away as she closes in on you; you're suddenly afraid of the wild look she sports.

"It was supposed to be a surprise. It's all you, always spoiling my surprises." She snaps her teeth, reaches for you, long nails first. "He's playing now. Don't you see? It's all a game for him." She clicks her fingers together, sighs mournfully. "But he'll just break my Spike in the end."

You stop your retreat. Now you understand what this is about. You grab her wrist and pull until you're both eye-to-eye. "I'm not sorry," you tell her. Now all you see are her dark eyes, the night and the silence engulfing you. Then there's something probing deep into you. The corner of her lips lift and you blink as the daze disappears.

"And you never will be," Drusilla whispers before effortlessly fading away.

You never remember in which moment you loosened your grasp.

---

You find a silver dagger in your schoolbag, the one that stayed at the feet of your bed all night. Not all demons need an invitation, this means, and some of them are his friends. The warning is acknowledged.

But the dagger itself represents no threat. It's meant for you, and not just as another gift. You know that as soon as you touch it. You don't understand the engravings on the hilt, but you're sure they whisper your name. You can feel the metal calling to you, vibrating as it fits seamlessly in your hand. This is new, not even Kendra's Mr. Pointy felt as _right_.

You wonder where Angel found it.

---

Willow asks what has you so happy. You distract her with a promise to study French together.

In the mood you're in, you might even keep your word.

---

Casually, you ask Giles if a weapon can be personalised. He pushes his glasses back up his nose and launches into a lecture of spells and rituals. The gist is yes, but they're rare and consume a lot of work and energy.

You try not to feel pleased.

When Giles questions your curiosity, you smile brightly and say it'd be so cool, like Wonder Woman and her tiara. He stares at you and shakes his head in disappointment. That's better than him taking your new toy away for investigation.

You don't question why you don't want it taken away.

---

Dr. Black talks about relationships, maturity and disappointment. When the words 'bad break up' cross her lips, you know your mother has told her about Angel. You keep her on the topic of Pike for the whole hour.

If your closest friends won't discuss him with you, there's no way you're letting her do it.

---

Cordelia stares at you consideringly in your next class together.

The next time Xander asks you out to dance, you refuse the offer. You don't want anyone else suffering for love.

Not that you are.

---

"I see you liked my gift."

You dig the dagger deeper in the Zafer's stomach before raising your head. As expected, you don't see him but you still glare in the direction his voice comes from.

"I knew it'd fit you. A Slayer's weapon for a Slayer. Does it feel good, lover?"

You answer honestly, there's no reason not to. "Yes." A Slayer's weapon, it makes sense. This is why you feel the burning sensation every time you handle it. You dislodge it from between the scales and study it carefully. If you concentrate, you are sure you'd see it glow where it touches your skin. "Did you make it?" you ask before you remember he doesn't have to answer anymore.

He laughs, but answers. "No, my dear." A chuckle. "Why waste time making it from scratch if I could bid for it?" You frown. Bid? As in, an auction? "The money was worth seeing the Council's officer's face when they didn't get it. And yours when you did, of course."

You don't care about the money, or his stolen impressions of you. The Council. God, what else is the Watcher's Council hiding from you?

"Tell you a secret." His voice now sounds mere steps behind you. You keep your eyes straight ahead, but they close on their own accord when he brushes your hair aside. "There's one more in Sunnydale, a thousand times more powerful."

You shudder, and you can't tell if it's at the idea of such a power or at his touch down your spine. In any case, the hand around the dagger tightens nervously.

"Shhhh. Down, girl." He takes that hand in his. If it's by mistake or by design, you'll never know, but for an instant both of you touch the metal at the same time. Slayer and vampire, antagonistic forces. You knew it, but you'd never understood until you feel your energy drained away to repel his. Then there's nothing, only a feeling you'd forgotten: normalcy. Two identical forces in opposite directions, balance.

You stay in silence for an eternal second, and then he snatches his hand back and leaves without another word.

You wish you could stop shaking to do the same.

---

Identical forces.

Identical.

You never thought of that.

---

Giles looks confused when you ask for information, as detailed as possible, please. Then he snaps out of it and rushes for the necessary books before you can change your mind.

Oz is the only one who doesn't gape when the group finds you surrounded by half of Giles' collection. They politely ask if they can help, but it's Friday and a night at the Bronze stops them from complaining when you say no, thank you.

If you'd planned this, it wouldn't work out this perfectly.

---

"In each generation, there's a Chosen One..."

That's the most information about the Slayer's origins. Considering there are two Slayers now, it's even more useless. The more books that say nothing solid, the more unsettled you feel. Your only consolation is the small dagger buzzing against your thigh.

Slamming the last book closed, you jump out of your seat and head outside. You stand on a Hellmouth. The convergence of all magic.

_Someone_ must know.

---

You wish nobody did, that you'd never heard the story.

Identical, indeed.

Willie's bar will have to be refurnished after you leave.

---

Your mother doesn't ask why you've been crying all night. She must think you still haven't gotten over Angel.

This time, she'd be wrong.

---

You use even more euphemisms with Dr. Black. What if everything you believed in, wasn't? What if the person you thought you were was fundamentally _wrong_? What if...

She stops you and holds your hand. "What matters is where you're heading. Have you thought of our last talk?"

The future. Right. You still have to decide whether you want black or white granite for your tombstone, and which shoes you'll wear. But now, in this little office you manage a smile and blame PMS for your outburst.

Dr. Black makes a lot of notes this time.

---

"I'm getting bored with this."

Considering he tackled you first, he certainly isn't. Neither are you really.

You tighten your knees around his waist to hold him against the ground and roll your eyes at his sly smirk. You liked him better when he was more conspicuous about it. "Stop losing, you might find the fun."

His sight fixes on the Claddagh charm dangling between you and the leer grows. You forgot you were wearing it; it distracts you enough to allow him to reverse your positions. He pins your arms above your head. "Like this?" You try to throw his weight aside, but he presses down more strongly and murmurs against your ear, "I see your point now." He'll leave purple fingerprints around your wrist. Again. You fight harder anyway. "Don't you get tired of this?" he muses aloud when you finally manage to free yourself.

"My shrink says I have to stand my ground," you say before you attack him again. If you aren't careful someone might think this is your version of playful banter.

It's not.

---

You find an envelope at your windowsill the next Tuesday. Your fingers don't tremble when you reach for it, but they do when you see the contents. Dr. Black smiles a charcoal smile up at you. You shred the picture and don't tell your friends.

They don't need to know of your latest failure.

---

You buy a dozen wildflowers that evening.

'Jenny Black.  
Beloved Daughter'

She also taught you a little of everything except what you really need to know.

Figures.

But for this death, you've kept the secrets. There's no betrayal, but you are the guilty one. You keep one wildflower in your grasp and go visit your original betrayer. It's been a while.

---

You stay there past sundown.

You say nothing. You think of nothing.

You aren't surprised when he comes to you. Angel still knows when you want to see him.

"Why?!"

More than a scream, it's pure pain.

He shrugs, leans to take the lonely flower and observes it for a minute before pinning it behind your ear. You let him, because that's what he did after Ford died. "I don't know," he'd said then, after Giles left and he found you kneeling at your friend's grave. But he doesn't move to hug you now, doesn't hold you tightly as the first tear falls. "Why not?" is his answer.

Why not, indeed.

---

Your mother is looking at you with something deeper than worry. Fear.

Finally.

That nice Principal Flutie, your favourite teachers, every friend and casual contact except for Willow and Xander. All dead. 'What have you done, Buffy?' you hear her think every morning.

You let her do your laundry that week. Your clothes are mended and bloodless the next day, and your mother has left without notice on a business trip.

You have only yourself to blame for her absence.

---

You go to Crawford Street and half-think of following Giles' example. But it's not about revenge; it's about Angel unbalancing the scales. Again. Why did he have to do it?

_Why not?_

But there's no trace of him in the mansion. You only find Drusilla and Spike in the gardens. She's sitting on his lap, playing with his hair. He's stroking her lips, smiling fondly as she talks around his fingers. His other hand holds her waist securely as the wheelchair moves under them.

You could do it.

You know both can walk, but not faster than unexpected fire. This is the perfect moment to get rid of them; you will handle Angel's anger later.

But then you catch sight of Spike's expression. Everything's clear in his eyes as he looks into Drusilla's.

Absurdly, it gives you hope.

---

You cannot sleep for four days in a row.

---

You finally give in during Oz-sitting.

The werewolf escapes and this time he doesn't go just for rabbits. The next morning you wake up to the sound of Giles' stern voice and the cries of an unknown girl. She wears a long scratch along an arm and a bite mark on her calf. Oz looks down as the others arrive; he is never able to look his girlfriend in the eye again.

You didn't know much about werewolf instincts, but you do know that Willow is silently blaming you.

---

You actually go to the apartment that night. You're that desperate to settle everything.

It is empty, but you can immediately tell Angel's been keeping it. There's no dust, the bed covers aren't those you left and when you open the fridge, there are bags of fresh blood inside. The kind he once helped to rescue from faux hospital helpers.

There's also a pint of chocolate-mint-cookie-dough ice-cream waiting in a separate case. You tell yourself it's an ambush as you search the drawers for a spoon. That's still your excuse as you lie on the bed.

Your eyes close as soon as your head hits the pillow. It seems that sleeping on a chair at the library isn't conductive to restful dreams.

Turns out that sleeping on a comfortable bed doesn't, either.

---

It's Angel.

It's Angel and she loves him.

It's the end of the world and she doesn't care as she kisses him.

"It'll open its mouth and eat us all," Giles's voice sounds from behind her.

"Like Twinkies, the mini-sized ones." Xander nods, straightening the tux coat lapels along his body. He winks at Willow's long formal dress and smiles when the redhead hands him a piece of her chocolate. Cordelia looks between them, shakes her head and her side bleeds a little.

Buffy wants to ask what's happening, but Willow interrupts her, mock-whispering in Xander's ear and pointing with her chin in the blonde's direction. "She changed everything." In the blink of an eye they're the ones who've changed to everyday clothes. "At least I'm not the one doing it this time." Willow looks at the room around them, and Buffy knows she's thinking of the Apocalypse that's playing. Xander grins and hugs her by the waist. "Black doesn't suit you, anyway." Willow pouts and glares at a strand of bright-red hair. Xander takes it from her hand and tucks it lovingly behind her ear. "Not that you wouldn't work it out," he amends his last statement.

Cordelia rolls her eyes and leaves the room, muttering that the only filing she ever needed to know was her nails'. She walks past Kendra without a second glance, and when the Slayer speaks, Cordelia is already nowhere to be seen. "Being a Slayer is not what you are, but _who_ you are." Everybody nods sagely. "Whatever," retorts a blurry figure behind Kendra, "Want, take, have, B. That's what we Slayers are really about." Willow and Xander turn as one to disagree on that point, making Giles step in to dispel the argument oncoming. Buffy feels her hand taken in a bigger one, metal clinking against metal as they fit together. "What do you think, Buffy?"

Then she's back to the kiss, and she draws a sword... No, her dagger... No, a _scythe_?

"Close your eyes," she murmurs.

And her world ends as the weapon buries in Angel's chest.

---

"Wake up, damnit!"

Someone is shaking your shoulders strongly. You open your eyes and find his brown ones looking at you in worry. Real worry that scatters your thoughts even further. You think of no revenge now, no death but the one you just witnessed.

He frowns, lets you go and you fall noisily back on the bed. "It's just a dream."

You shake your head. Once you dreamed you'd lose him, and you did. That's when it finally dawns on you. You can't lose him. Not this time.

_It's never over._

You disentangle yourself from the covers and push him out of your way before you can elaborate on that thought.

---

You find a note tucked in your waistband. You must have been lost to the world when he first came in if you didn't notice him slipping in that paper. There's only a map on it. It leads you to a vineyard.

When you arrive at your destination, you can only stare at you newest gift in awe. Not only is it the same weapon you used in your dream, it is your missing complement as a Slayer. A thousand times more powerful, he'd once said. Sweet Jesus, he wasn't lying that time. You caress it and almost purr at the sensation. If the silver dagger made you feel strong, this is as close as divinity as you'll ever feel. You never wanted this kind of strength, but you'll take it. You'll _have_ it. You wrap it in your jacket and leave, never noticing the corpse behind the curtain.

The last Guardian may have disagreed with the wisdom of your motives, but Angel didn't care.

---

You can't possibly show it to Giles. Never mind explaining how you found it, you don't want the Council putting a price on it, too.

You hide the bundle under your bed. It's not as if your mother would notice; she never enters your room if she's home nowadays.

---

During your short trip, you manage to completely miss the affair with the swim team. Oz's new girlfriend manages to save Xander from certain death, but not before they have to hide in what'd been Miss Calendar's office. The fish boys trashed the place in their way through it and several other classrooms. You wonder where Snyder gets the money for so many repair works. Between it all, they busted Coach for alleged drug peddling. The police never ask too many questions in this town, especially when they find mangled body parts in the school basement.

Your friends are glaring at you as they tell the story. Busy tending to Xander's wounds, Cordelia and Willow won't even talk to you. Giles calls you away and directly asks what's happening to you. You tell him you're sorry, and look at him in the eye as you say you're getting the blues for your coming birthday; eighteen is old for a Slayer, isn't it?

Giles' eyes scatter away at the words. He turns around and begins to pale and stutter.

That talk at Willie's conveyed several topics beyond the Slayer's origins and into the Slayer's current situation. Those Watchers, they really need to cover their secrets better. Or maybe not if useful weapons and barbaric rituals are said secrets. You don't know what Giles would have done, but he's stuttering too much to be completely innocent.

No wonder he and Jenny matched so perfectly. People around you have this tendency to betray your trust; at this rate you may begin thinking there's something wrong with you.

---

"You like it?"

You kill the other Luiths effortlessly; a single hit is enough to slice through their thick skin. Wow, talk about saving time and effort; you are even starting to sleep six full hours at night. You repeat the move easily until the Luith isn't moving anymore. Then you change the scythe from hand to hand fluidly, making it jump in the air. Small movements that are improving as you feel more confident in its power.

Oh yes, you like it, and you tell him so with a grin.

He raises an eyebrow when he notices you're wearing your ring. It wasn't a conscious decision, one minute you were brooding about it and the next it still fit perfectly on your finger. Much like these meetings still fit. "I think you are misinterpreting things, Buff."

Says the vampire who gave an unbeatable weapon to the Slayer. Nope, you're interpreting this just fine.

---

At the school, the maintenance guy complains as he cleans the destroyed rooms. If he notices the little blue diskette in a corner, he doesn't give a damn as he throws it into the trashcan.

---

You duck to avoid his strike, jump to draw a quick breath and attempt to hit him with a left hook to his chin. It doesn't work but you didn't expect it to. It's been a week of absence, of no gifts at your window and zero fledglings to send his best regards. If you didn't know him so well, you'd say he's getting cold feet.

But you know him. He just wants to draw out the waiting.

You don't mind. If you wanted to end this, you would simply reach for the weapon leaning against a nearby tree. But with Angel you never chose the easiest path and, frankly, this is more fun.

The scythe calls to you and, when he pushes you to your knees, you're tempted to retrieve it. He follows your line of sight and shakes his head admonishingly. "Who's handling who, lover? Should I start playing with it instead?"

He's right in his implications. Damn him. If you let it, it could control you. Power is addictive and there's no denying it. Addictions don't follow sanity or rational thoughts. They push you into action and can't be satisfied until you're drowning in them.

---

You're past the drowning stage with him.

You just aren't sure where you are.

---

Willow avoids you in class. She looks down every time Oz enters a room. Xander looks at her in worry; lately there have been new nuances in his eyes. Cordelia glares between them and shakes her head a lot.

You observe all this, remember the dream, and you know something big is coming.

---

You overhear your mom's conversation with her sister. They talk about Celia fondly. You leave through the window and don't wonder which good memories they'll share about you.

---

You really hate thinking of death this often.

---

Angel makes you forget about it. He always did.

---

Your dad calls the next night. You don't recognise his voice at all. When he asks for his ex-wife, you tell him truthfully that you don't know where she is. She probably left a note at the fridge again. That must be easier than to face an unstable daughter.

You're getting used to it, but you don't tell Dad that.

---

Giles says that the demon population has dropped dramatically in the last two weeks. Loudly, you thank fate for the reprieve. For yourself, you feel the buzz of the unknown metal in your hands.

You can control it.

Really.

Or you can go back to stakes and crossbow, just to prove yourself you're right.

---

You're half draped on him when you ask the question. "Why is Spike still around?"

"Took you long enough to ask." He puts his hand on your hip, but he doesn't push you away. It feels more like a caress. He licks his lips and chuckles before he knows what to say. "I'm curious. How far must I push him before Spike shows his hand?"

You don't jump away from his touch this time. He's not the only curious one. "Then you'll kill him?"

He smiles, strokes your chin slowly. Somewhere in the last minute, this encounter stopped being a fight. "That's why you told me?" he asks amusedly.

Yes. You'd thought the truth would have a repercussion. You should have remembered that, to him, truth is just another toy.

Once upon a time, Angel secreted away the little truths of your life. Once upon a time, you'd have lowered your head onto his chest and told him everything: Willow's silence, Xander's stubborn ideas, your mother's behaviour, Giles's treachery and the untruths of your Calling. Now you push yourself up and go collect your weapons bag. You feel his eyes on you at every step.

---

Somewhere else, Drusilla is weeping.

---

There's a hand on your shoulder and before you've fully turned around, he traps your arms against your body and pulls you forward to him. The bag falls behind you, and you hear the stakes and arrows clatter and roll on the ground. Today wasn't the best day to start on scythe-withdrawal; if this is what happens when you're without it, you'll have to reconsider that decision.

When everything is silent again, he talks. "You never answered, love, why haven't you finished with this?"

You know what he means, too well. Whatever he may think, Angel is still a vampire. He'd stand no chance against the weapon he found for you. The answer is simple: Because when your life is shattering, hunting him is the only stability. But he doesn't give you time to voice that, and you tell yourself you would have never shown that weakness.

He shakes you a little as he continues, his voice lower as it goes. "Why? Don't you see? Nothing will bring your boyfriend back."

You are stunned by his words. You hadn't even considered that possibility, it's that far-off.

---

Somewhere else, Acathla sleeps.

Feet above him, bulldozers and dump trucks are preparing for an excavation.

---

Angel brings you up, face-to-face with him, until you have to stand on your tiptoes to keep your balance. "What do you want from me?" you whisper. He's given you roses, he's given you death; he's given you chocolate, bruises, heartbreak and the most useful weapons a Slayer could have. He must want something back.

"Don't you know?"

You only know he's playing with you, just as he's playing with Spike. "How far do you want to push me, Angelus?"

His eyes widen at that name. Yours do, too. It's the first time you've ever used it, the final acknowledgement that your love is dead. When you talked of killing Angel, you never guessed you meant _this_.

He nods to himself and his grasp tightens around your forearms. "Far enough for this," and then he brings you into a kiss. It makes no sense, but it brings to your mind all the answers.

Angel's kiss is still Angel's kiss, you thought at the music classroom weeks ago.

You rediscover how right you were.

There are a thousand reasons why you shouldn't kiss him back. He manages to drive away each of them as the seconds pass and the kiss strengthens.

---

When you realise where he's brought you, you aren't surprised.

The apartment is as spotless as the last time you were inside, and the bedcovers feel as soft and smooth as the first time you laid on them. You let him undress you, because that's what you knew he wanted since he targeted your would-be boyfriend. He isn't satisfied until you stand in front of him wearing only the ring that matches his and the necklace he gave you. A second Claddagh for a second time, that could be called poetic if he granted you a second of pause to think about it. But he doesn't, and maybe that's better. If you thought, if you actually stopped to consider what you're doing, you'd realise that this moment is madness, and you don't want to admit that. Not even to yourself.

There's no logic, no rights or wrongs to this. You know how his mind works, and how he likes to be kissed. When he shows it is mutual, sense is made.

Everything will be all right.

---

Everything is different.

Everything feels new. Yet the setting is the same; the mattress as pliant as you lean back into it. He still follows you immediately and he still throws the pillow to the floor but forgets to push the covers aside. His hand's grip on yours is tighter than ever, though, and in no fight did he look at you as such a challenge.

You kiss his shoulder to remember how he tastes, and the familiarity of it comforts you. He kisses you, too. Your face, your neck, licks your nipples exactly how he used to do before. You'd want to hold him, caress him back. There are good memories wanting to be made tactile again. But the difference is that in no memory were you unable to move, and the sound of his name doesn't make him change his mind. "Angel..." you say, just a notch higher.

He looks at you and smirks. "Close your eyes," he tells you, an order underneath the softness of his voice. Those three words make other three echo in your mind. Now or never. A choice you'll never be able to unmake. If his word choice tug at you, you don't register it. Reality shifts again as you do as he says and let the sensations take over. As you trust your instincts in a fight, you trust him now. Both are as deep-ingrained within you. He pushes into you; at the same time he steals your gasp with a kiss.

Everything is different.

As he settles back on the bed and holds you close, kisses one familiar kiss at the nape of your neck and tells you to sleep...

...everything is all right.

---

You arrive home late the next morning. Most Sunday mornings, your mom and you would have breakfast together, talked about friends, school and work. Now the house is empty; Joyce Summers must think that if she doesn't see it, then it isn't happening. Like mother, like daughter.

She went past depression and into denial. You just don't know if it's grief she's staging through.

---

On Monday morning you wish a good morning to Oz's girl. Willow sees the exchange and turns around on her heel, doesn't speak to you until lunch.

You console yourself with the knowledge that at least she isn't running away in fear. If she knew about Saturday, you are sure she would.

---

You stop the scythe's blade an inch from his chest. You've discovered he's a real risk-taker. You also must be, letting him kiss you into this helpless state.

---

Xander gives you his apple in exchange for your sandwich. He laughs at your story of your first patrol and, more than your recalled clumsiness, it's that sound which makes Willow smile.

You remember feeling pity for Cordelia months ago.

---

You rescue Aphrodesia's newest boyfriend from him. "Why do you have to do it?" You ask as the boy races away. Angel doesn't spare a look for his would-be victim, but immediately focuses on you. He closes the distance between you and reaches to caress your cheek in welcome. You unthinkingly flinch away from his touch; you need an answer first.

He actually looks disappointed for a second. Then his expression hardens and he makes a shot for your chin and lifts it until you have to look into his changed face. "It's nature, lover," he almost growls, "Take it or leave it."

You can't shed yours any more than he can his. You grab a fistful of dark hair and pull his face down into a fierce kiss.

---

Nature.

His.

Golden eyes when he leans down to kiss you, nips your shoulder with lengthened teeth.

Yours.

Glittery nails along his chest as you rise above him. You lick your lips at the look on his face, and slowly move back down.

Identical and opposites.

Nature.

---

"They summoned a demon and named it 'Slayer'," you tell him drowsily, still waiting for your heartbeat to return to its normal rhythm.

"I know, baby. I know." You raise your head to stare at him. He pushes your hair away from your eyes. "That's why you needed _your_ weapons. Whatever the Council gave you couldn't be enough for my girl."

"And if I had killed you?"

Angel looks at you in real amusement, brings your left hand to his lips and kisses the Claddagh on it. You understand his answer: He took care of that first.

---

"Whatever the Council does, Giles loves me."

Angel caresses your hair slowly before bringing your head against his chest. "That he does." He waits until your cheek has settled comfortably against his bare skin, strokes a path from your temple to your chin and back again. "I don't."

Yet Giles is the one you won't approach. Must be a blonde thing.

---

"Low in vampires, aren't we?" Xander asks as you both hurry through a History assignment during lunch.

You look over at Willow and see that she's distracted with a sorcery book; she can be a real taskmaster, merciless if she notices you're not working. "Same as always," you answer quietly.

Xander frowns. "Weird. I haven't had to carve new stakes in ages. What's this? Recycling Month? Vamps got the Greenpeace channel and are saving trees?"

Well, vamps got scythed through. Xander would surely appreciate the new verb, but you can't explain the story behind it. Thankfully, Willow comes to attention and shushes you before revising your progress with the Russian Empire.

That evening you remind yourself to bring some stakes along. You'll find a place to dump them during patrol. Yes, you're sorry your friends' effort is going to waste, but they can't know of your weapons. Even if you were sure they wouldn't tell Giles, you've kept the secret too long.

You've kept too many secrets too long. One day they'll explode out of their little box and your friends will be there to witness it. Nothing has ever scared you that much.

---

Days later your Watcher manifests his surprise at your improved technique. You congratulate him eagerly for being such a good trainer, but don't mention your sparring partner on the side.

---

"You kill my demons now?"

You are staring at Angel half in wonder and half in annoyed surprise. It was _your_ Guhg after all; you'd been hunting it for three nights in a row. When the big body fell noisily before you could run the scythe through him, you knew Angel would be behind it. That second felt almost like old times, when he was always there to guard your back.

"You were taking too long," he says with a shrug. "It was getting boring just to watch it."

The illusion of old times lies dead at your feet. It's not your back he's guarding now, but for all intents and purposes, it feels awfully close.

---

He takes you to the mansion for the first time that night. You'd never been inside and you're a bit amazed that this would be his taste, so different than the small apartment you visited before. A chimney, the wide spaces, the windows that spell disaster for any other vampire.

And yet he maintained the apartment long before you used it. There's something lurking there, but he's distracting you too well to ponder on it. The bed is bigger here, the walls a lot thinner. He whispers in your ear that nobody is in, but you don't believe him. You can hear the wheelchair whirring somewhere nearby, small dainty steps alongside it.

When your voice rises louder than ever, he smiles.

So do you.

---

You are just finishing pinning your hair up when you find Spike in the common room. He smirks knowingly, rolling the wheelchair in your direction as you button up your shirt. "See what the cat dragged in," he drawls. "A Slayer. Complete, too alive and in our humble abode." He nods to himself, as if your presence was a mystery he couldn't unravel. "What do we owe the pleasure?"

"Nosy boy," a female voice starts from behind you. "Won't let a lady keep her secrets, tsk."

Trapped between both vampires, you automatically assume a fighting position.

"We ain't the ones to be afraid of, Blondie." Spike tells you. "Relax, have a seat, make chit chat with the family." He opens his arms wide and sneers up at you. "Because that's what we've become, the happy little family, right? Tell her, luv." One of his hands extends forward, motioning Drusilla to his side.

The brunette advances, brushing a hand along your arm as she walks past you. Before she reaches him, she offers you a secretive smile. "He's right," she mouths as she sits on Spike's lap. They blow a kiss at each other and then turn to you as one. "Who'd have thought we'd be on the same side."

You raise an eyebrow; those aren't the words you expected to hear.

"Angelus wants you. We can't go against Angelus' wishes, can we?" Spike directs the last words to the vampiress, and she pouts and shakes her head sadly.

You know better. They can, and their denial makes you even more distrustful of this meeting.

Spike sighs at his own alleged impotence, but suddenly perks up. "But your friends, they wouldn't agree this easily. That lovely redhead of yours, what would she think?" He searches for one of his girlfriend's hands and presses his fingertips against Drusilla's, one by one until their hands stand as mirrors for each other. In your silence, Spike answers his own question. "Why, I think the news would break her little heart," he says thoughtfully.

Drusilla takes her feet off ground and raises her legs to tuck them on his lap, too. Cuddling tight against him, she continues. "The children are blind. They'll be deaf, too." And almost in a whisper, she adds, "They'll twist off her head and say they did because she changed hats." At that Drusilla turns to you and taps her chin, looking at you slowly from head to toes, "Black doesn't suit you anyway."

Spike laughs. "No, pet. Miss Slayer here is still a White Hat at heart. It's the rest of her body that says otherwise."

Drusilla traces a finger along his cheekbone. "He's playing with her, naughty angel," she murmurs. Pressing herself against his frame suggestively, she drops a kiss on his mouth before continuing, "I miss that."

Spike's face darkens minutely before addressing you directly again. "What do you say, Slaygirl. Will you trust the force of friendship enough?"

Willow is still mad at you and Xander adds up Angel's victims in silent disapproval. No, friendship wouldn't endure this truth. They'd never understand why you sleep with a soulless Angel, they'd never forgive you and you aren't needy enough to ask for it. Reality would draw you apart, indefinitely, and Spike will gleefully tell them every detail of it. You see it in his expression as clearly as you saw his love for Drusilla weeks ago. It's a shame you can't simply destroy them. But they are Angel's first, and you don't get to play with them. So you say the only thing that would keep the lie, keep your friends at your side. "Angel knows."

You never thought to use it as leverage, but you're loyal to yourself first.

Spike's eyes narrow and the hand caressing Drusilla's back freezes in place. "Angelus knows shit. I don't know what the hell you're babbling about."

You look intently at the wheelchair, then raise your eyebrows at him. "And there I thought there were no secrets between you." You point to Drusilla. "Dru knew," you drop the last bomb. Spike slips into his game face as a growl escapes him. Drusilla tries to calm him uselessly. Smugly, you walk past them and into Crawford Street.

---

You are heading to your room when your mother appears at the top of the staircase. The circles under her eyes are barely noticeable now; the trips have really suited her. As her eyes widen and her hand shoots to grasp the banister, you guess her impression of you isn't as favourable. Angel can be a generous lover, but never a careful one. What your mother doesn't know is that the marks will have faded by lunch, but she won't stay that long. She came only for a change of clothes, she says as she hurries away. She has to leave for Connecticut at once. She must think you're a fool as well as dangerous, as if you hadn't noticed her closet emptying faster with every exit.

So she's chosen to abandon this; you can't blame her. At least she didn't throw you out. As you see her throw the last pieces of clothing into her travel bag, you wish she had.

It'd make more sense than this.

---

You fiddle with your ring constantly during your next training session. Giles finally notices and looks at you with something between sympathy and pity. "I'm sorry, Buffy." Then he cleans his glasses and reloads the crossbow. "If there was a way to---"

"There isn't." He doesn't look up. At least he doesn't insist that you should dispose of Angel. Soon you'll run out of excuses. "If he did," you attempt after a while, "what would happen?"

The anger in his expression is all you need. Your boyfriend doesn't have a place among your friends anymore. They can forgive anything but Giles' grief. If Angel ever recovered his soul, he wouldn't be welcomed back. If you didn't feel that Karma had more responsibility than Angel in Jenny's death, you'd probably join in.

---

In moments like this, you know you _should_ join in.

You look in shock at the tableau before you. He never hid his habits, never attempted to deny these nightly hunts. You've read the obituaries, tried to block out Xander's mutterings. Of course you _knew_. But to see him, to watch him swallow a last gulp of blood before loosening the slim body on top of another one. He closes his eyes for a second, a satisfied smile crossing his lips before he licks the wayward drops away... "Gotta say, lover, this isn't as much fun without you trying to stop me."

First you're startled, then angry at his words. You raise your weapon and instinctively aim it directly at his heart. Angel watches your actions with a slight rise of a skeptical eyebrow. "If you want to play, you're welcome." He falls into a defensive position, as relaxed as when you used to spar in the library.

Play, he says, as if you didn't wish that was all this was. But the corpses at his side speak most loudly in their silence. That's the Calling you're supposed to answer to.

"We could continue this," he says, and only then you notice that minutes have gone by and you still haven't moved on the attack. "Or you could go save someone that needs it. These ones?" He touches the crumpled bodies with a foot, shrugs. "They won't appreciate your bravery, Buff. Come on, it's a loss of time. Let it go." He points at the scythe in your hands, the one that hasn't moved during this insane conversation. "You won't do it."

You lower your arm, not because he is right. Every victim needs to be avenged; you've learned that. But life without Angel? Going back to the hate and the vengeance and the emptiness? Having no one who understands why you enjoy each kill and who doesn't shy away from the dust in your hands?

No, you can't do that again. You won't.

You know the sight of those girls will stay under your eyelids forever; but in exchange for those hours of unadulterated acceptance, you'll learn to live with it.

---

If Angel ever recovered his soul, he wouldn't be welcomed back. You don't want to imagine what would happen, but the two of you together seems unfeasible.

Yes, he is still a murderer. Yes, he doesn't show any repentance. But he also finds you and kisses you and makes you feel _real_.

Is it a sin to wish for things to stay the same?

---

You scream at Jonathan to run away, now! He is frozen, staring over your shoulder at the hungry face you're protecting him from. You snap him out of it with a slap; it'll leave a red mark but he'll be alive to nurse it. Once the boy is gone, you whirl to face Angel, stalk towards him angrily. "Do you enjoy this?"

He nods at the scythe you're holding, the dagger that shows its hilt above your waistband. "Don't you?" He raises your shirt aside to touch the engraved metal. Few times has he reached out for your weapons, but it still feels like that first night. A first struggle of power, then nothing but final balance, two forces too strong to defeat each other. No, you couldn't live without this rush just as he cannot live without blood.

Angel gave you a weapon to slaughter demons most swiftly; with it you've saved way more people than with your old methods. You haven't given him anything but questions. Relationships are about compromise, after all.

For the first time it occurs to you that might be what's happening between you.

---

The school has organised a memorial for the losses of this school year. Willow tears up at the J. Calendar on the list. Xander hugs her one-armed at the same time his hand almost squeezes Cordelia's in helpless frustration. This time you wish wholeheartedly you could be the brunette. She didn't know the computer teacher that well; that's a good excuse to look as bored as you're feeling.

Lucky her.

---

Later, you settle your chin on Angel's chest and poke his shoulder until he wakes up. "You killed Jenny. Why doesn't it hurt? Shouldn't it hurt? Shouldn't it hurt _me_?" You've never mentioned the gypsy's name, just as he doesn't mention the soul. But the small picture at the front of the assembly, even among so many others, has stirred memories within you. You'd laughed with Jenny once; this angry void you feel at her name now, you don't like it. You ask him because he's the only one who would understand.

His eyes clear immediately. "No," he says without a second thought. He's still a deplorable liar. You reward the attempt with a long kiss, though. When he flips you on the bed and begins nibbling down your neck, all questions are forgotten.

---

You don't ask why he did it. Survival. You don't need to lack a soul to understand it.

---

The library's doors haven't finished closing when Willow barrels into you and actually manages to hug the breath out of you. You return the embrace hesitantly; she's been so distant for weeks. You are about to ask where this is coming from when Giles speaks up. "We were just talking about you."

Considering Willow's behaviour, it must have been a good talk. You frown in confusion, deeper when your friend sniffles loudly before loosening you. "You should have stayed yesterday," she says between tears. "I was so scared for you!"

"She was," Xander agrees, coming behind the redhead and standing by her side. "She arrived at my house in a panic. We rushed back to the mall, but couldn't find you."

"I was so worried!" Willow wrenches her hands together nervously, looking down at the floor before her eyes meet with Xander's. He nods at her encouragingly, and only then does she turn to face you again. "I know you must be mad at me." Her green eyes grow wide in apology. "I was so angry. But you weren't to blame about Oz, of course not! And then you come and save my life, again! God, I was so stupid. I'm sorry, so sorry, Buffy."

Xander pats her shoulder consolingly and Giles smiles proudly when you move forward to hug your friends. "It's okay, Will," you tell her. "I understand."

---

"I don't understand," you tell Angel minutes after school is over, still flushed from the sprint to the mansion.

He slowly opens an eye and then the other, practically yawns each word. "What now?"

"I was hunting a pack of Zafers yesterday." You sit on the bed, making sure not to come in contact with him and stare right ahead as you continue, "Willow was attacked at the mall; Zafers nest all the way across town. What happened yesterday, Angel?"

You close your eyes when you feel his fingertips massaging a thigh above your jeans. "I thought you'd be glad," he says, his voice still rough with sleep.

"I am." You put your hand over his, lead it away and deposit it back on the mattress. "But I still don't understand."

He finally rises, pushing the covers apart and drawing himself to sit beside you. His hands are now more decisive as they lay around your waist and pull you steadily towards him. "I told them your friends were out of reach," he tells you as the scarce distance between you disappears. "I don't like rebels, Buffy. I thought you knew that."

You knew, and you tell him that with a kiss. You know a lot of things. But sometimes you just can't understand them.

---

Willow is all smiles and laughter again. When she cries, it's because she's thinking of Oz but now she allows you to act your best girlfriend role again. Giles helps you to build a bigger cage in one of the caves at the beach. That way Willow won't have to see the werewolf couple at the library every month.

You two go back to study together, you shop together and you whisper behind Cordelia's back together.

Everything is back to normal.

You missed Willow. Having her back is worth another lie.

---

"Spike and Dru left," he says from the shadows.

You feign surprise at the news, and calmly finish wiping the blade off.

"It was odd," he continues, leaning against a headstone. "I was about to unmask the charade. But Spike seemed to _know_ about it. Any ideas how that happened?"

You shrug. "Slayer here, honey. If you want a seer, that'd be brunette, long dresses and scrambled brains."

His lips first twist at the nickname, but he doesn't let himself be sidetracked. He sighs, steps away from the tomb and towards you to steal your breath with a kiss. "That's the point, love." He accentuates the last word with a peck against your lower lip. "She isn't here. And just when she had this plan. Let me say, it had potential."

You can't help it; every mention of Drusilla on his lips burns you in jealousy. She had his attention long before you did, kept it through centuries and gypsy spells. You don't make yourself any illusions about what happened between them with only a crippled Spike as a chaperone. You're glad he took her along. No, make it delighted, but you don't think Angel will care about that. "What plan?" you ask instead, making yourself sound interested.

A rustle in nearby bushes interrupts his answer. You roll your eyes and tighten your grasp on the scythe's handle. But Angel catches the intruder first, a small vampiress looking for a quick meal. She looks surprised when she can't loosen herself from his hold, then relieved when she recognises him as one of her kind. She turns to you with a leer, but it dies quickly when you just smile back at her. Her brown eyes look up in confusion at Angel, and he shakes his head at her. "Interrupting our conversation," he drawls before staking her with an apathetic sigh. "Why are the dumbest girls always turned?" He asks the ashes.

You snicker a little, but sober up as he closes in on you. "We have the mansion for ourselves," he whispers before tugging your arm in the direction of Crawford Street. There is still slaying to be done. But you think of lighting that fireplace and staying near it all night, no Spike and no Drusilla to interrupt you.

You follow him.

---

The next week you grouse at having to go all the way to Revello Drive just for a shower and a change of clothes before school. Now that your mother doesn't ever show up, you don't see the point to it. After training with Giles, you head straight to the mansion to check out an idea you had during Math. You smile in satisfaction when you're finished. The shower problem is easily solved; the appliances are unused, but still work. About the clothes, God knows there's enough space for your entire closet in this place. Now if you only could decide where to hang a full-length mirror...

Angel finds you taking measurements of the common room. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I think I'm moving in," you say flippantly, just to rattle him. But he doesn't seem rattled at all, just rolls his eyes before turning around and going back to the bedroom. On your side, not until you said the words had you realised that was what you were doing.

---

As you choose your favourite clothes to take over, you pause to think about your actions. You can admit it now: It's madness. Illogical and unheard of, too. Maybe if you hadn't... if Angel didn't... if, if, if! You can imagine a hundred possibilities where you'd be completely happy, not sneaking around your friends to meet Angel. Where your relationship with said friends didn't hang on the edge and wasn't saved by a lie. Where you didn't have to hide Angel, or where he'd never lost his soul. None of those worlds are as fractured as this one, and the only alternative worse is one where you wouldn't be with Angel at all. But he is. Here and now, he is.

You zip your bag closed and make sure to leave the essentials in this room, just in case the guys come over one day. You lock the door behind you and walk slowly down the porch. When you thought of leaving this house, this scene never was a possibility. In hindsight, there are many paths you could have taken. But here and now, this is it.

Maybe Dr. Black was right, after all. What matters is where you are heading.

Yes, that's all that matters.

---

"You look different," Willow tells you one day, smiling as she looks over your shoulder to correct your Algebra assignment. Xander looks up from his own homework and nods, "Good different, sure."

A second later he whines for Willow's help with the next problem. You look at them, notice the relaxed way in which the redhead leans against Xander's chair, how his eyes shine as he observes her.

They are really blind, you think. She's still grieving Oz's actions. Xander is too confused at Cordelia's sudden and unexplained departure. You could explain it to them, say why the brunette gave him back the heart necklace. It was no coincidence that it was the morning after Xander forgot another date while he was consoling his childhood friend. But if they are blind to their own lives, then they surely won't see yours.

You don't want them to see, therefore no word crosses your lips. You just smile at them and think that you've come full circle, with only your closest friends at your side. You'll enjoy the feeling while you still can.

---

"His name is Acathla." Angel points to a statue in a corner of the garden.

You cock an eyebrow. "It's... not your usual style?"

He laughs, touches it carefully, almost reverently. "It's also Drusilla's last vision for me." You know nothing good can follow that statement. You're right. "If it opens its mouth, it'll devour the world into a hell dimension. Quite an over-achiever, isn't he?"

_It'll open its mouth and eat us all._ "Like little Twinkies," you say aloud, and you shudder visibly. You make to rush inside and retrieve your weapons. A single slice and the threat will be over. An Apocalypse is exactly what you don't need.

But Angel stops you, whispers in your ear. "Don't worry; I like the world just fine as it is. Well, maybe a bit more mayhem here and there, but that's it." You never thought he did. He must have sensed your scepticism because he drops his forehead against the back of your hair before continuing. "I leave utter chaos for Giles' little friend. You can't control chaos, Buff. Ethan missed that point. I prefer power, the knowledge of being better." You understand that too well. Staying with him hasn't helped you to forget you're a Slayer first. "It's a gift. For you," he says at last, tracing the silver chain down your chest before pressing the Claddagh charm slightly against your skin.

For a moment, you can't understand the words. Then comprehension dawns and you glare at him angrily. "For me? You're giving me an Aklata?"

"Acathla and yes." He traps you between himself and the stone figure, leads your hand to touch its surface. So cold, so dark; you can hear the hunger within it, growling and swirling in a giant vortex. You feel your hand taken in his, metal clinking against metal as they fit together. "What do you think, Buffy?"

You tighten your grasp on that hand without really thinking about it. "I don't want it," you murmur, more shaken than you wish to be. You wonder if Drusilla shared your dream. Did she see that scene? Did she see Angel dying before her eyes? Will he change his mind and you'll have to choose between him and the world? You can't. You can't!

"Relax, baby." He smoothes his hands down your arms. "Even if I wanted to do it, I have an eternity afterwards." He's kissing a pulse point as he says it, marking the 'afterwards' with a quick nip. After you're dead, he means. It's the first time he has mentioned your imminent death since he stopped trying to kill you. Angel knows you won't let the world be taken into hell. Even if you destroyed this statue, there are countless other ways to bring in a successful Apocalypse. He can find one. You know that as well as you know the body you're leaning against; you also know you won't be around forever to stop him. The weapons he's found for you will help, but the Slayer is still human - Mortal. Now you finally understand his actions. Acathla isn't your gift; his unsaid offer is.

He'll wait for you to ask him.

He'll be disappointed.

---

You go Bronzing that weekend. The three of you have avoided the place for weeks, never mentioning that the Dingoes are on stage almost every night these days. But tonight is a full moon and their guitarist is locked in a cage. None of you mentions that, either.

You order your Cokes and hum along with the music, comment about school and summer plans. Later it is glaringly obvious that Xander still hasn't learned to dance, but you and Willow cheer him on anyway. Cordelia looks at him fondly from her spot among her friends. The Cordettes have realised they can't exist without their queen, and Cordelia still has the money and the influence to fill the place. You wave at her, and she actually begins to smile back before she remembers she quit the Scoobies days ago.

Afterwards you take the guys on patrol at their insistence. You feel handicapped at having to use only arrows and stakes; but they look happy and the whole night feels amazingly like old times. You also feel Angel's presence nearby, and it reminds you that you'll need all the good memories you can get.

But you're happy now. This world is imperfect and the future will fracture it further, but in this moment, you smile. You're willing to be burned for this happiness.

It's all that matters.

---

It'll end with a gravestone.

Yours.

Your friends won't raise you from it. But if you change your mind, he will.

* * *

**The End**  
19/09/05


	2. Tease fuchsia

I've decided to add the other stories of this 'verse as continuing chapters to Courting Sin. These stories go from drabbles to full-fledged stories, and I hope you'll enjoy them all.

**DISCLAIMER:** giggles I'd be happy with the leather.  
**GENRE:** Romance... I guess.  
**RATING:** R-ish  
**WORDCOUNT:** 1582  
**SUMMARY:** **CS'verse.** B/Aus, S2. The closest thing to Fluff I can write with them. And Fluff probably is running scared that I'm using its name here. So Alternate Reality it hurts. How many times can Leni use the word 'sun' in a story? _**Language warning!**_  
**FEEDBACK:** Please?  
**THANK YOU:** to **Kristi** for the beta. And **Sharon** for convincing me to participate in **colorific**. Though that was more of a -Sharon: 'I have this idea...' -Leni 'Yay!! Where? Where?'. LOL. hugs her

for **colorific**, _fuchsia_. Other shades of purple: magenta, lavender, lilac, mauve

* * *

**TEASE**

by Leni

* * *

He stood in the last inch the shadows protected and looked into the gardens. He didn't like to be out of bed during the day, and since Spike had taken Drusilla away it'd been even less necessary. But he'd heard Buffy come in, recognised her light steps across the mansion's lounge room. He hadn't paid attention at first, she was always coming and going. But when she hadn't entered his bedroom after half an hour, his curiosity had risen.

Now he understood the reason for her delay. He found her in the middle of the unkept garden, a recumbent shape stretching languidly under the sun. Her hair was wrapped tighly in a bun, leaving her neck bare to the sun's effects. His eyes followed the inviting arch, then down the relaxed lines of her back. He smiled when he found the bikini's white straps open at either side before continuing his appreciation of her exposed skin.

She'd put a bright fuchsia towel between her and the ground, some overly plushy fabric with happy girly designs. To see Buffy lying between smiling butterflies and overgrown daisies; he could hardly reconcile this image with the confident vixen who'd practically assaulted him in the far end of Main Street two nights ago. Now she appeared to be asleep, though her breathing pattern betrayed that she wasn't. Anybody else, she would have fooled easily, except for her toes that brushed absently against the rachitic grass. A tired nymph hiding in his property; Angelus liked that idea but had to break the spell before he became enamoured of it. "Thought this was why we had beaches in Sunnydale," he said loudly.

Her body didn't move at his sudden intervention, neither did her feet stop their slow back-and-forth path. She moaned low in her throat, as if it weighed her to interrupt her blissfully relaxed state. "Too many people," she said curtly, in a tone that let Angelus know in no uncertain terms that his presence was also one too many.

That didn't deter him, much less make him leave. He felt satisfied with the view Buffy was offering and wasn't about to give it up just because she was in a mood. Her skin, somewhat pale from her nocturnal life-style had already recovered some of its golden overtones. "People at the beach? I thought that was the point of going with your friends." Indeed, now he remembered she'd told him excitedly of their plans to enjoy the first summer weekend together. What she'd been so excited about, Angelus couldn't fathom; but Buffy had been babbling and unable to wipe that silly smile off her face.

"It's Willow. She got the flu."

"And good Harris is taking care of her," he completed the sentence. Her shoulders shrugged, as if she didn't care. But she was pouting against the towel, he just _knew_ that. Couldn't have his girl pouting, could he? "And that leaves you alone and whining in my garden." The mocking tone worked its effect. Buffy whirled around, not caring that the white straps hung loose at her sides, maybe because she was sure that the front would hold in place. Sadly, she was right. She didn't say a word, but her glare alone spoke volumes. If looks could kill... Well, hers would have pushed him into the sunlight and danced in his ashes. He laughed. "Not whining, then?"

She gathered her knees to her chest and her eyes narrowed even further. "Fuck off," she told him succinctly.

Angelus laughed harder. There was something so wrong about Buffy using profanity while she was still sitting on that ridiculous fuchsia towel... He abruptly sobered up. A little girl's accessory and a little girl's temperament. He looked at her thoughtfully, wondering why it was so easy to forget she was only seventeen years old. Then her anger subsided and he saw the burden of a thousand Slayers past take hold of her features. This was more like it. Angelus wanted to grasp that transformation, bottle it and show it to everyone who considered Buffy a normal teenager. She was the Slayer first and last, and even those aware of her secret couldn't understand that simple fact. It was the Slayer who looked at him defiantly, daring him to make fun of her again. He acquiesced with a slight nod and contented himself watching as she applied more sunblock to her legs and torso. The ever-present pieces of jewelry were missing this time, and even though their absence was necessary for an even suntan, Angelus found he missed seeing the silver glint of a Claddagh against her chest and the smaller one peeking from between her fingers.

Buffy hesitated when her hands found the lower edge of her bikini top, looked up at him interrogatingly. Angelus's eyebrow rose in slight surprise and he smiled. His day had just been made a lot better. Did she think he would stop her? "Nobody but me here, Buff." Their eyes met across the few insurmountable meters that separated them. After some seconds, Buffy nodded and smiled back. An inviting, seductive smile that gained new nuances under the sunlight, where she knew that no matter her actions, he wouldn't be able to follow.

Now he recognised his girl as she slowly pulled the cloth away, never letting him take his eyes off hers. Then she shimmied out of the bikini bottom and pushed it away with her right foot. This was the woman he'd stalked for weeks, the one who'd given him a taste of his own medicine when she'd considered it necessary. Buffy stretched again, now using only her elbows and the tips of her toes for support. Her body arched beautifully upwards while her head was thrown back, a move so exactly executed, an invitation so shameless that his nails were biting his palms in instant reaction. Angelus forgot that it was daytime, forgot the incongruous setting she'd provided: the childish towel as direct background, the dying and stunted plants surrounding her, the fact alone that this was the gardens in fucking sunlight and not his bedroom.

"Angel?" Too entranced in the sight of her, she had to call him twice before he responded. "You okay there?"

He stared at her, half incredulously and half proudly, and finally noticed that she'd made no move in his direction. And she didn't seem to be about to, either. She really was going to take that sunbath and leave him waiting, wasn't she? He chuckled and resigned himself to this whim of hers. A normal teenager... _Right_. And he also wanted that soul back. He took a single step towards her, occupying the space the shadows had gained during this interlude, saw her smile grow when she noticed his advance.

"Maybe I should go. Check on poor sick Will, don't you think?" Buffy said, amusement written clearly in her eyes. If she did, she would discover what chains were good for. But she only giggled at his expression and laid back on the towel, shifting this way and the other until she found a comfortable position. Angelus thanked the fates that her instincts, sharply honed in battle, didn't pick up on his crazy pondering of how bad it'd actually be to leap into the sun. He shook his head at himself and settled to wait for sundown. Meanwhile, he consoled himself envisioning scenarios where he made her pay for her merciless teasing.

In the end, he simply carried her inside, corresponding her light kisses and touching her sun-kissed cheeks with his lips as they went. He deposited her gently on the bed, lowered himself at her side to caress her warm skin, feeling as the last vestiges of sunlight slowly evaporated into nothing. Buffy wrapped herself around him, confessing against his collarbone to have waited for the sun to set as desperately as he had. She kissed him fiercely and he responded in kind, letting her set the pace for the following minutes. But the moment she tugged his shirt upwards, he tutted and shook his head, stopping his hands' movement on her back and lowering them onto the mattress. Buffy blinked at the unexpected pause, stared at him inquisitively. Angelus was aware that he was smirking as he talked, "Don't ever do that." He leaned forward to steal a quick kiss from a still surprised mouth. "Unless I ask." From her expression as his intentions dawned on her, he knew she'd take his words as a challenge. 'Do it until I get used to it,' her mind had translated, he saw it in the hard set her chin assumed as he dislodged himself from her arms. Without another word, he left her on the bed wearing nothing but a deep frown and fledging plans of retribution. Angelus was looking forward to it.

Once the scene had been assimilated, she'd go on patrol. He pitied the poor bastards who crossed her path tonight. An unsatisfied Slayer was deadly enough, add Buffy's current hot anger... He ignored the loud stomping of drawers as she got dressed and was careful to set his visit to the gardens in time with her exit. There, he distinguished the ugly towel lying forgotten on the ground. Even under the moonlight that bright fuchsia still hurt his eyes, never mind the butterflies... He picked it up, then walked inside and threw a few logs in the fireplace. After all, a nice fire would be a good first step to placate Buffy when she returned.

* * *

**The End**  
26/10/05


	3. Territorial lavender

_**DISCLAIMER:** Not even Miss Edith is mine, and she's only porcelain!  
**WORDCOUNT:** 2813  
**SUMMARY:** **CS'verse**. So, what happens when Buffy has to play hostess for an unwelcome vampire? Simple, she doesn't.  
**FEEDBACK:** puppy eyes  
**THANK YOU:** to Matt and Kristi for the beta. Thank you, thank you, thank you for helping with this, guys!_

_For **colorific**, lavender._

* * *

**TERRITORIAL  
**_by Leni

* * *

_

Angelus never knew whether it'd been the sudden presence against the doorframe or the simultaneous tension in the body he held which woke him first. He opened his eyes reluctantly; it was barely daybreak and they'd fallen asleep no more than an hour ago. Apparently their rest didn't matter to the figure standing at the door, neither that they hadn't bothered to cover themselves before surrendering to sleep.

He recognized the soft giggle instantly. A low curse from his side revealed that Buffy had seen her, too. Not bothering to sit up, he merely shifted on the bed for a more comfortable position.

Buffy tugged on the sheets to cover herself; he didn't bother to. There was nothing Drusilla hadn't seen before. The brunette smiled appreciatively, then invitingly, completely disregarding the seething blonde at his side. He paid no heed to her and strengthened his hold on Buffy, mostly to stop her from launching herself at the intruder. The muscles at her back had gone from contentedly relaxed to taut in an instant, and were currently on the brink of releasing their energy against Drusilla. Angelus tried a smooth caress down her spine to calm her, but a warning sound from his lover's lips advised him not to adventure down that route. He shrugged mentally and looked between the two females, each lethally dangerous in their own right. For a first face-to-face meeting, this wasn't so bad. No blood was running, at least. "Dru, what are you here for?"

The dark-eyed trespasser smiled and took his words as permission to walk into the room. She did so languidly, disregarding the clothes strewn on the floor. "Had to watch, had to see," were her only words as she advanced towards the bed.

Managing a hasty knot with the sheets' corners, Buffy's face took on a more natural shade as her blush subsided. Her anger didn't. Chin set in obvious annoyance, she confronted Dru with acid dripping from each word. "Now you saw. Get the hell out!"

Rarely had he seen Buffy as enraged, Angelus noted privately, and he'd gone to extremes to infuriate her. Enraged Slayers weren't healthy for vampires, and Drusilla wasn't so crazy that she'd ignore that simple rule. But now she simply glared at the blonde with contempt, then swiftly returned her attentions to him. "Miss Edith thought I was telling fairytales, cried because she wouldn't want to get into bed." He rolled his eyes. In her hand now he noticed the mentioned doll, blindfolded with a long black ribbon that trailed down Drusilla's arms and twirled carelessly in the air. "Little girls shouldn't see," she frowned, "But she wanted to." She gave the doll a punishing tap and continued. "Little girls shouldn't touch." The smile made a slow, deliberate turn into a smirk. "But I can."

Angelus saw the caress coming, invited it with a reciprocal smile. This was Dru, after all. There were some things she wasn't used to being denied, and this would be fun to observe. True to his estimation, it was the last straw for Buffy. She saw the brunette's intent as the challenge it really was. Long before the beautifully manicured fingertips could reach his skin, his bedmate had Drusilla's wrist trapped in a tight grasp. "Get. Out," she bit out, exponentially more menacingly than the last time. Angelus had never heard her hiss in anything but pleasure. He rather liked it, he realized. Buffy then released the vampire with enough force to make her traipse backwards.

Drusilla was quick in regaining her balance. The hand around Miss Edith's torso tightened dangerously as her dark eyes fixed on Angelus'. He responded with an amused shake of his head. Dru should know better than to ask for his intervention. For decades he'd never stepped in when the spats had transpired between her and Darla, and he wasn't about to make such a foolish mistake now that he was a century older. He wasn't the least concerned about the outcome; they could – and probably would - hurt each other; but never cross that line. The rules were simple: If Buffy killed Dru, she'd have to head for her dearest friends' funerals within the next day; and if Dru somehow managed to kill Buffy, well, his favourite would find out that he'd been a very nice 'Daddy' so far. Angelus wanted no part in this catfight, but just to lie back contentedly and watch. He'd always enjoyed a good show, after all.

Knowing she was on her own, Drusilla threw her shoulders back imperiously but didn't take a single step back. Her hands betrayed her, though, moving arrhythmically on the doll's head. They were almost twitching, pulling at the perfect hairdo Miss Edith was wearing today. "You can't hold me. Cannot tie me," she whispered, punctuating it with a hostile snarl, "I'm free of you, girl. I am free in my house. In my---"

"Your party?" Buffy interrupted her. There was a mocking tone in those words, and the brunette's lips thinned in reaction. "Wake up, Dru." The name was charged with so much loathing that Angelus was amazed that Drusilla wasn't flinging herself at the nude Slayer. Buffy must have thought the same; that was the only explanation for the next second.

Where she'd hidden the stake would remain a mystery. She rarely carried one nowadays, preferring to rely on the scythe's proven deadliness. Angelus was strangely disturbed by its presence, here, where he slept and was at his most helpless. Drusilla wasn't nearly as anxious about the weapon's origin, instead taking it in with a disdainful glance. "Can't do it, you know it," she sing-songed, grinning in delight.

Angelus felt tempted to warn Buffy, but desisted immediately. She should be aware of the consequences. Not even a Slayer could protect two people from him, and certainly not without telling them all the details behind his renewed threat. He looked at Buffy expectantly, waiting for her next move.

She didn't lower her stake, and she wouldn't take her eyes off Drusilla. "Stay five more seconds and find out." Her voice didn't waver, neither did her aim. Angelus' eyebrows raised at the determination in his lover's appearance. Grudgingly, so did his respect.

Drusilla must have seen the same thing. She looked between them searchingly, appeared to be on the verge of tears when he only shrugged at her situation. Her left foot stomped loudly against the floor and her lips pursed in a sullen pout before she whirled around and out of the room.

The stake was gone in the next second, back to its unknown hiding place. Buffy watched as the vampiress disappeared around the doorstep, and then turned to him with a serious expression on her face. "I'd rather face the guys than have _her_ traipsing around in my room."

'My' room, Angelus noticed and frowned at the slip. On the good side, she'd proved to have overcome her initial anxiety about Dru. Even with a soul he'd worried about that. He couldn't – wouldn't - order Drusilla not to annoy his lover; she had to earn some respect by herself. Neither could he be babysitting Buffy until she acted out. Frankly, he'd never been interested in doing it, and now he wouldn't have to.

Meanwhile Buffy was unwrapping the sheet from around her body. She flung it irritably onto the mattress and purposely aimed it at his head, blinding him momentarily. By the time he drew the cloth away, Buffy was already moving from one corner of the room to the other, searching for her clothes and pulling them on as quickly as she could. All the while she kept muttering darkly under her breath, but in a volume high enough she had to know he was listening.

Finally, she took a deep breath and walked – stalked – towards him. She sat at his side and balanced herself with a hand against the centre of his chest as she leaned forward. "You smiled too much," she told him before kissing him, the hand moving on his skin in tandem with her lips. Her nails teased his navel, then bit down slightly before beginning again. The kiss itself was harsh, too, tongue and teeth on the offensive as they sought out his. It seemed more a 'watch out' warning than the simple goodbye it was supposed to be. She bit his lower lip before breaking her hold, kissed her fingertips and caressed his chin with them as she stood up. Never looking back at him, she left the room without another word. Angelus saw her leave and smiled, licking the small tear in his lip. All in all, the balance was positive.

**ooo**

Angelus saw the final result of those angry mutterings two days later, when he was awakened as soon as the sun set by Drusilla's loud cries and louder curses right outside his door. He smirked to himself, thinking that maybe Spike had gotten his last dig on his Slayer. As he followed the noise out of his room, he actually considered how to reward Buffy – after she'd been properly punished, of course. Perpetual annoyance or not, Spike was still part of this household.

It wasn't Spike's ashes which greeted him.

When Angelus finally discovered the cause for Drusilla's grief, he couldn't contain a deep laugh. Buffy had so much potential. Right here and now, he knew why it'd been worth it to win her to his side. The only way her message could have been clearer was if she'd actually slain Dru. Instead she'd chosen the more subtle approach: ripped lavender ribbons hung from the door, each of them nailed to the wood by a stake.

The fabric's texture and colour alone told Angelus of its source: Miss Edith's favourite dress. Drusilla herself had made it during one of her saner episodes. He could still remember the low humming as she sewed the pieces together, the trail of young girls left behind. Because Drusilla wanted only the best for her masterpiece, and she couldn't bear a sign of blood on it. If memory served, and Angelus knew it did, Dru always kept it under her own clothes, in her own room, very close to her bed. Everybody knew that Buffy hunted while they did, so she had to have retrieved the dress with Drusilla and Spike in the room. He was surprised she hadn't done this in their door, but then realized the stunt was the most effective 'Keep Out' sign.

Angelus ignored the brunette's pleas for revenge as he left his room, but caressed her hair as he passed by her. Still chuckling, he drew her head to his chest in a mockery of protection. "She can't play by the rules," Dru whined, pressing against him as if seeking comfort. Absently, she twisted one of the rags around a finger and suddenly yelped when she discovered it'd been soaked in holy water. "Take her out. Out! You don't need any girl but me."

"Oh, Dru." He stroked her cheek, kissed her hairline, then took her by her elbows and sharply pulled her away. "But what would Spike think of that?" The blonde's wheelchair had come into the aisle just in time to hear Dru's words. Angelus greeted Spike with a sarcastic nod; he answered with an obviously fake smile. "Take care of her," Angelus said as he pushed Drusilla onto her lover. She managed to fall gracefully on his lap and immediately cuddled up to him, sniffling and glaring mournfully at the impromptu decoration of the main room's door.

Angelus left them like that and went off to search for his lover. On his way he couldn't help but consider a new thought: Buffy wasn't as tight in his grasp as he'd believed. She would have killed Drusilla that morning, he had seen than decision in her expression, her stance and everything that screamed Slayer within her. That she'd changed her mind in the end had been more a last minute whim than any fear of his reaction.

Eternity without Dru, how boring that sounded. She wasn't the only vampire he'd sired, but all others he'd abandoned or staked. But Dru, sweet broken Dru, she was so special. So _his_. The underworld had been shaken when they'd seen what the sweet maiden had become in his hands. Drusilla was his masterpiece, the only creature he'd torn down and rebuilt from scratch. Not even Buffy could claim that.

What would have happened if Buffy had done it? Obviously the gang would be dead; but after that? He'd always thought he kept Buffy in line with that threat, but now she had shown she wasn't that easily tamed. Shame on him, really, for believing it could be that simple. This was Buffy, after all, and he'd taught personally her that fear couldn't control her; that was how he'd convinced her to stop dreading her friends' objections and come to him. Now Angelus saw his lesson play boomerang on him, and he was... strangely pleased. As much as he'd liked the idea of having a Slayer under his control, he would enjoy testing Buffy's limits and stretching them even more. And lately her limits were edged in so many jarred shards; the very fact that she'd been tempted to kill Drusilla revealed so much. Before she wouldn't have dreamed of it, not for something as mundane as stepping into his room. Angelus would delight in unveiling how sharp these new limits can be, and how he could make them even sharper.

But for now he concentrated in the sound of a nearby fight, smiled when he heard a familiar feminine voice quipping her way through the battle. He knew the Slayer had emerged victorius when a there was a long howl, then nothing. He advanced into the alley, trying to reconcile the panting Slayer inside with the schemer who just won the battle against a centuries older vampire without a single hit. He could admit it to himself, he liked the schemer better. If he had to decide between a eternity without his favourite or without this girl, he'd choose Buffy. It was such a pity that she wasn't interested in that offer.

"Drusilla is most unhappy," he said as soon as she was finished cleaning her weapon. Then, truly curious, "How did you know?"

Buffy didn't turn around immediately, but stopped at his words. "I can read," she told him simply.

Of course, that made sense. Which better way to know about a vampire's secrets than a Watcher's archives? He nodded. "Didn't Giles forbid you to break into the Diaries again?" He didn't need to ask. After the chaos of Hallowe'en, Giles had banned all of the youngsters from that section of the library.

Buffy snorted, and he knew she was rolling her eyes from her tone of voice. "I spend most nights at your place, in your bed." He moved swiftly at her side and smirked meaningfully at that last word. She responded to his grin, didn't seem the least startled that he had materialized inches in front of her, and then continued, "Somehow, peeking at old books didn't rank too high in the 'Good Slayers Don't' list."

His head cocked to a side, curiously. "Anything good about me?"

"Not really."

He glared at her.

She smiled, a smile she'd never used when he had a soul and which was perfected with every lie. "It was an interesting read," she allowed.

"Interesting. That's all? You aren't going to tell me what those prigs know about me?" Angelus caressed her cheek, as he'd just done with Drusilla, and sweetened his voice. "Really, Buff. What kind of girlfriend are you?" She shook her head and made to leave. He took her wrist to stop her, but let out a hiss when his palm began hurting in the distinct burn of holy water. He didn't loosen her, endured the pain as he pulled her under the nearest streetlamp. When Angelus saw her wrist under the light, his eyes fixed on the thin lavender strap acting as a brand new bracelet. A second phase for a good plan, he admired that. Envisioning Drusilla's face when she saw it, Angelus was forced to feel… proud? Oh, his girl had so much potential, and she still insisted on being loyal to Giles regarding the Council's records.

Buffy didn't try to fight his grip, and instead searched his look with hers. "The kind that isn't friendly at all," she responded his last question.

Not friendly? He grinned and kissed the back of her hand as all answer, making sure to brush against the metal of her Claddagh ring. Not friendly to him, neither to his protégées, that was true. But when he pulled her body in to kiss her, the last thought in her eyes was to resist.

All in all, the balance stayed positive.

* * *

**The End  
**22/10/05

* * *


	4. Rain

_**DISCLAIMER:** Begins with J ends with oss.  
**DEDICATION:** for Monique. She asked for 'Buffy/Angelus - chocolate strawberries'. I must admit it took me ages to find an idea. You'd think it's easy, and it should have been, but the strawberries and I couldn't decide on a plot. And how would we? They wanted to be worked into a simili! Go fig. Peckish fruit! mutters Anyway, Monique? Hope you liked it!  
**THANK YOU:** to Kristi, I had despaired of finding a final line until I found you, sweets. hugs And to Matt of course. Without him, I don't know where this 'verse would be. Thank you!_  
_  
_

* * *

**RAIN  
**_by Leni_

* * *

Angelus leaned against the door frame, looking out into the dark, rainy night. Cold wind blew against his chest, splashing him with even colder raindrops, but he paid no attention to them at all.

Here she was, again. Once more, he found her in the same position, in the same spot. Why did she have to do this? It wasn't her fault that the rain had taken up residence in Sunnydale for the past several days. The nights before, he'd advanced determinedly to meet her, heedless of her thoughts and her brooding feelings as he sweet-talked, pulled or fought her into coming inside. But tonight, he didn't feel like repeating the cycle, so he stood at the door, still shirtless and his feet bare as he'd just left their bed. He looked on at the scene before him, considering whether to step into the gardens or not.

Buffy was sitting in the middle of a dead patch of grass. Many times had she mentioned her wish to see the space in greens and reds, and maybe yellows and purples. But she never looked up a gardening booklet, nor did she hire help. This was her space, she'd told him once, and even though he'd sneered at the thought of a piece of _his_ household belonging to her, he had to admit that he wasn't interested in the gardens. That was why all the plants were slowly dying, after all.

"I don't like the rain," she said suddenly. And yet she stayed still, a motionless statue as the drops fell all over her body, soaking her clothes. She'd even let her hair loose and it fell down around her shoulders as she tilted her head up to welcome the rain on her face.

If Angelus hadn't known what brought her here, he'd have thought this picture of her was beautiful. But he did know, and that spoiled all the pleasure he could find in the way Buffy looked at present. "You act like you love it, girl." He rarely called her by anything but her name now, but there were some occasions where she behaved like the eighteen year-old she was. Why did she have to do this? Every time it rained, she forgot him and her other duties and just sat in that same spot of the garden, close to the only bush she cared for. A rose bush, figures.

Right now she was fingering the lowest rose; Angelus could see as she traced the edge of each petal. If he asked why she did it, she wouldn't tell him. He hated to admit that he didn't know the answer.

Was it nostalgia? Maybe.

Was it sadness? Yes, but that wasn't all of it.

What was it, then? What made her slip so quietly out of their bed, as though she were hoping he wouldn't notice her leave? What made her tiptoe across the mansion, open the garden doors with a whisper, leave her shoes just inside and then walk out onto the muddy surface and sit, looking up as the rain continuted to fall?

Was it self-loathing? No. She was long past that. But nights like this... Nights like this always set his hard work back a couple of steps. But Angelus was hardly deterred by that. It only meant that he had to try a little harder to bring her back.

He looked up at the sky, and a real smile fleeted through his face. It was the same picture which had welcomed him back to reality fourteen months ago. Oh yes, that would make a nice conversation opener. He crossed his arms over his chest and glanced back at his blonde lover. "I'm quite fond of it," he told her point-blank. "Brings nice memories." He saw as her shoulders tensed slightly, but she immediately relaxed again. "Freedom tastes good, Buffy. Why must you chain yourself to memories?"

She shrugged. Didn't even bother to turn to glare him, even though Angelus knew that the words had unsettled and surely angered her. Buffy never liked when he made references to that part of their past, the part where he still owned a soul. Tonight, he didn't care about what she liked or didn't. He just hated that his bedmate abandoned her place at his side for some pathetic show of self-pity. "Would you do it again?" He'd never asked that, even when they'd been fighting at their worst and exchanged vows of death and hate.

As the silence spread over seconds and entire minutes, Angelus thought that she wouldn't answer. But then her voice came, first very low and then gaining confidence as it continued. "I didn't know then. What would happen after that night, I didn't know. How could I not do it?"

Angelus tsked. How like her to evade the real question. Lately she'd been doing it more and more often, as if she could actually hide from him. The frustrating part was that sometimes she managed to. He had to hand it to her, that ability Buffy had copied from him quickly. "That wasn't what I asked."

She bent her body forward, hugging her knees against her chest. Her face was hidden, but even though she didn't move a muscle afterwards, Angelus knew that she was crying. "Yes," was her whisper. The fragile rose she'd been playing with was torn within her tight grasp. "If I knew. If I'd known, I'd still..." She raised her head suddenly and the raindrops disguised in a second every trace of her pain. Crumpled blood-red petals fell from her hand and the wind blew them into the darkness, but Buffy didn't notice as she offered a bittersweet resemblance of a smile. "It brought me here, didn't it?" Her eyes looked haunted; rain always did that to her. "I can't say it's that awful."

Angelus laughed. Buffy still had so much to learn if she wanted to use her words as weapons. For her friends, for the Watchers, those meager drops of acerbity may work. But for him? Her attempts amused him. "Not awful? You break my heart." He smirked. "That's what I call true love," he chuckled as he finally decided to go to her. Even though he was still shoeless and the garden was now covered in mud, he walked towards her and stood at her side.

She didn't move.

On a whim, he took one of the newest rosebuds and smelled it. Sweet, like she still knew how to be, sometimes. The deep red looked almost black in the unlit gardens, much like the two of them, Angelus mused. He thought back to a week ago, when he'd had almost the same thoughts about chocolate strawberries as he fed them to her. There was only one similarity between that night at the fireplace and now. Just like with the strawberries, his interest in this small rosebud was solely because of her, because she'd asked for the treat a week ago and she'd preferred the roses' company to his tonight.

But that night had been so different. They'd been lying in front of the fire, and her face blushed in becoming rosy tones instead of its present haggard looks. Her skin had smelled deliciously, too, and tasted just the same. Tonight the rain covered everything and the only pleasant aroma came from the rosebush at his side.

Maybe now he understood why Buffy visited it on rainy nights.

The petals were covered in raindrops quickly, though, and his interest in the rosebud faded just as fast. But the girl on the ground had managed to keep him piqued, even before she became his lover. Even now, as her whole demeanor changed during these brief showers, Angelus couldn't keep from wondering what their next step would be.

Going inside sounded like a wonderful option.

When he offered a hand to her, she took it wordlessly and rose to her feet. She looked at him defiantly, as if daring him to take her out of her momentary haven. It was the same look as the nights before, and every time Angelus had taken the challenge. But now, though, he felt like trying something different, like surprising _her_. Why not? Even he grew tired of playing the villain.

The tip of the rosebud caressed the sides of her face, first left and then right. Finally he tucked it behind her ear, a gesture he'd made to hundreds of women in hundreds of different settings, but only Buffy had been on the receiving end of it more than once.

She touched it carefully, adjusted it more comfortably. Then she gazed at him and this time the tears were recognisable even under the falling rain. He reached out to wipe them away but, unexpectedly, she moved backwards. He frowned at her, and she only shook her head. "It's not, you know?" she murmured. "The rain took it away."

He blinked and it took him a moment to understand her. His 'true love' commentary. That their relationship wasn't about love? Angelus chuckled. Still so naïve. "Oh Buffy, of course I know." He'd drawn the lines himself, allowed her no mercy whenever she tried to see her boyfriend in him. He didn't want her undying love; he had no need for it. But her loyalty, her energy and her strategies, that seed of real power that hid beneath the burden of her duty; those were things he wanted and took from her. The exchange was more than equal, he thought, for she had his undivided attention, his knowledge and whatever scraps of first love she could get from him. He had the niggling thought that she even had his protection, the kind where he'd rather destroy his own plans than allow her to be harmed. Buffy held everything he could offer, and nights like this reminded her that once she'd held so much more.

Nights like this meant for her everything she'd been forced to let go; but he used them to needle in everything she could still lose. All the reasons why she stayed with him, they'd been and still were powerful enough to override her common sense. She'd made him into part of her dreams and the whole of her reality, and Angelus had assumed that role inasmuch as she took the shape he tried to mold her into. Him, Buffy ran to when she was in trouble. Him, she told everything about her doubts about her friends and her Calling and her mother. Him, she trusted implicitly. Him, she believed and was willing to follow above all others.

She had good grounds for that choice, too. He still hadn't lied to her; he'd never tried to betray her, and it wasn't in his plans to do so. As everybody else in her circle took turns chipping away at her confidence, Angelus had collected the pieces and reassembled them into the woman she could be and he'd been so eager to possess.

He had given her a sense of safety, a place where she could grow freely into her powers and an understanding ear when these powers scared her. Yes, he pushed her, drove her to the limits of her abilities. He broke through the barriers of her morals and made her walk between the shards. But she always came out stronger from these trials; he was always forward about his intentions and thereby gained a little more of her trust.

Trust. That was the key to Buffy's heart and loyalty. Her last birthday had opened a chasm between her and Giles, the proverbial bond between Slayer and Watcher broken. That Wyndham-Pryce couldn't expect to retain her attention, especially not when Angelus was there to tempt her further away from the Council's clutches. Those fools couldn't hope to comprehend the prize they'd allienated with their Cruciantemum, and that worked just fine with his plans.

He wanted Buffy to rely on him, completely, just as she'd once relied on Giles and that souled self. Sometimes he thought he'd achieved his goal, as he watched her fall back on their bed in exhaustion with all her defenses down. She'd come to him for advice, and as she declined the Watchers and her friends' help, Angelus felt confident that she was finally his.

She wasn't, of course. That would be too easy. And the sound of rain hitting the outside walls brought forward the facets he still couldn't catch.

Buffy kept part of her being to herself, protecting it like the most treasured bounty. Angelus saw glimpses of that girl those days when she bounced into the mansion, laughing and playful after a particularly good day at school. Or that time when she'd dragged herself through the door at dawn and told him wearily that Faith had almost killed Xander. She'd blamed herself, of course. But if she regretted not having eliminated her fellow Slayer that first time or not having 'tried harder' to talk to the brunette, Angelus could only guess. Though his bets lay with the second option, curse it all. That morning she'd spent in the gardens, too, where he couldn't reach her under the sunlight. "They don't hold me back," she'd told him at sunset as she got into bed and cuddled up to him. He'd stood up immediately, scowling, and she'd only stared at him for a second before shrugging and leaving for patrol.

She still cared too much for her friends. Time and again they let her down and Buffy insisted on giving them second, third, and fourth chances. "They remind me why I fight," she'd told him once. Which, to Angelus, was the same as holding her back. Slayers didn't fight for good or for life, and he hated that Giles had never explained that truth to her. Slayers fought because they were power themselves and because it was in their blood. Her Calling wasn't one to protect, even if she took it that way, but one to fight against other demons. It was that side of herself which she'd offered to him completely. The warrior, he molded in his hands. The woman still escaped from his grasp on nights like this.

Now he looked at her, his wonderful Slayer, his most prized conquest. Her glare had died and instead she faced down, a little girl crushed under the rain and the memories and the truth. His hand reached for a strand of blonde hair and he played with it absently as he considered how to lead the conversation. "Not true love, Buffy. Never that." They were about more, but tonight she wouldn't understand those nuances of need and balance. She'd understand his next words, though, and maybe this rainy night was the perfect setting for them. "But I'll never leave you either." Letting her hair go, he tipped her chin up and smiled gently down at her torn expression. "That's close enough for you, isn't it?" Angelus knew the answer even if she didn't voice it. Not only close enough, but everything she could hope to have.

She closed her eyes, and Angelus wasn't sure if the drop hanging on her eyelashes came from the rain or her sadness. But suddenly that didn't matter as she stepped closer to him, arms tight around his body while her head dropped against his shoulder. "Yes." Her whisper was a confession against his skin. "Close enough."

* * *

**The End**  
26/01/06

* * *

_Feedback is love!_


	5. Ryan

**DISCLAIMER:** Well, Ryan is the OC here. And we know what happens to my OCs... *shrugs*  
**RATING:** Well, this is Angelus. You surely understand why that'd mean PG-13.  
**WORDCOUNT:** 3417  
**SUMMARY:** **CS'verse.** B/Aus, S2. Filler scene for Courting Sin. Buffy meets a friend from her Chemistry class at the Bronze, and Angelus is there to witness the encounter.  
**RATING:** R  
**THANK YOU:** to Sharon, for the beta.

For **color_i_fic**, _mauve_.

* * *

**RYAN**  
_by Leni_

* * *

He headed straight to his customary post at the back of the Bronze. Strategically, it was the best position since it couldn't be seen without prior knowledge of it. He'd found it the first time he'd stepped into the club, so many months ago, when he was still watching Buffy from afar. Angelus' lips twitched, some things didn't change so easily. But where that vigilance had her protection as its main aim, now he only wanted to watch... and learn.

He could have followed Spike's example and sent minions to tape her. But seeing her on film couldn't compare to studying her through her window, or here, at the Bronze. Spike had gotten one more thing wrong, too. He'd worried so much about Buffy's fighting style. As if that mattered at all. She was as resourceful as they came, which meant that she changed her moves constantly, adapted them to the enemy's. Her technique still depended heavily on her adversary, and Spike thought he'd learn something substantial from that? Fool.

No, what was worth seeing was the normal girl in her, not the Slayer. What made her tick, what made her laugh and what made her care - or stop caring. What made her hate and lash out so beautifully. That was Angelus' priority at the moment.

He'd witnessed a lick of that hate burning deep in her, if only he could find a way to feed that flame. It'd been a matter of an instant, a single second that had changed the trajectory of his actions regarding this Slayer.

As the flames had engulfed the factory and he'd been forced to fight his way out, he'd seen and understood Giles' mindless hate. Buffy had been there, too, protecting her Watcher like a good little Slayer, and making some pathetic attempt to do her job and slay him. But good Slayers weren't supposed to react in private vendettas, and yet that wasn't the first time Buffy did it. Many times before she'd acted not because it was right, or just to save the world, but because someone she loved had been hurt. Not her, the offences against her she let slide; he'd be ash otherwise. For her friends, she fought. For her friends, she bled. Only in their behalf could she feel immense love and the deepest hate.

Yet that night, among the fire and the fight, he'd seen _it_. Giles had been raving about his lover's death, cursing him to all hells and tortures. And then it'd happened. Nothing more than a flash, the slightest tension at the gypsy's name. Buffy's expression had been hidden from the old man, and if it hadn't been, Giles still wouldn't have understood. But Angelus did. He saw her face and suddenly understood every nuance of it. Weariness, that she had to fight him when she didn't really want to. Understanding, that Jenny had had it coming. She hadn't even known that her teacher had found the soul spell, that her death had been more for survival than for revenge, but Buffy still blamed the gypsy more than him. And in the background, so much fury and resentment that he was momentarily shocked by it. Eye for an eye, that was the oldest law of retribution, and a Calling was nothing but old laws made duty. If the Slayer held Jenny responsible for her beloved's departure, then sweet, sweet Buffy, world-champion extraordinaire, hadn't regretted that death. Not in that moment, at least.

Then the moment was over, and all that hate was swept away under the burden of her responsibility. That was when Angelus had understood he didn't want her dead. He wanted to liberate her from that load, to help her unleash the merciless hunter he'd sensed within her from the beginning. With a soul, he'd encouraged her to control that part of herself and still live normally. Forget that. Now Angelus wanted to see her live up to all her glorious potential. At his side. And to convince her, first he needed to understand everything about her. There had to be a way to shift her loyalties; she was mostly human, after all.

Oh, he'd already made important advances to gather information about her. The things he'd learned! It was almost amusing how many interesting secrets the Watcher's Council treasured. Buffy's entire world would shake and crumble when she found out, and he'd be there to give her every detail and to stabilise and reshape that world afterwards. What he was missing was the exact opportunity to reveal everything to her, and that was why he watched her now.

Buffy came in first, easily making her way through the crowd. He'd always enjoyed that particular view, that subconscious show of power that even humans sensed and tried to avoid. Willow and Xander followed close at her heels, rushing in before the people gathered back after she'd passed. Tonight she was dressed in mauve tones; the soft colours lent her a sweetness Slayerhood often robbed her of. She hadn't looked this lovely since before, when they were still together. But after that soul had been drawn out of his body, she'd seemed to take it as permission to choose paler, less attractive colours for her wardrobe. This time, though, he could see the girl who'd kept him spellbound for months. For all his talk of her inadequacy, her ignorance and her immaturity, privately Angelus could admit one thing: Buffy always knew how to capture his attention.

Now she swept her hair aside, a movement that would be called flirty if she had anyone to flirt with. As it was, Xander had to gulp down his drink to recover. Angelus shook his head at the boy's behaviour. Indeed, some things didn't change. Why a sophisticated girl like Cordelia, or a smart one like Willow, wasted their time on him, Angelus couldn't fathom. For a moment he played with the idea that the brunette had fallen back to reason and dumped him; that'd explain her unusual absence at the table. He looked at the teenagers for another minute and then scratched that thought. There was no visible tension within the friends, no sign of forced smiles and ill-fitting post break-up laughter. Pity. His plan would work better if that thrice-damned friendship was shaken.

That was why it was important that he be informed of every detail in their lives and not only Buffy's. He was interested in Willow and Xander, as well. Such common humans, and yet they were a key-point to a Slayer's heart. He came here to study those two, too. If only he could find out which were the limits in their childish expectation of a Slayer's actions, then he would be able to push Buffy beyond them. Yes, it would be easier to dispose of them, but also useless and counterproductive. Buffy would stop at nothing to avenge them. It would be impossible for her to stop loving the memories of the past; the fact that he still walked free was proof enough. But it wasn't impossible that they stopped loving her, if he pulled the right strings. They were only kids, after all, with a kid's concept of the world. And for all a seventeen-year-old Slayer could share their views, she herself walked the fine line of good and evil. If she were pushed into the wrong side, and her friends be made to watch her fall...

Angelus would patiently draw her friends away from Buffy's life. After that, winning her confidence and loyalty would be so painfully easy. He raised his glass in a silent toast for his future victory, and set to observe the gang's night out.

He knew something was afoot from the moment Willow positively beamed at something behind Buffy. The redhead hadn't so much as smiled lately, what with her favourite teacher's death and the imminent threat to her own life he represented. Angelus was proud of the fear he'd elicited in her; the rapid breath and that trapped-rabbit look in her eyes. It was amusing to watch.

But now, frankly curious about that abrupt change of attitude, he followed her line of sight, and found a boy approaching the trio. Angelus frowned, as far as he knew, Willow already had a boyfriend, that young werewolf who'd looked lost at Buffy's party. Then he saw the meaningful look Willow was giving to Buffy and the not-so-conspicuous nudge under the table. The blonde glared at Willow; Xander just looked between the two girls in confusion, then he joined in the glare as the unknown boy reached them.

Angelus couldn't hear every word over the music in the Bronze, but the gist of it was that this was some friend from school, one who claimed to be Buffy's partner nonetheless. A corner of Angelus' lips lifted in an unconsciously predatory smile. Well, well. How interesting. It seemed that between the Hellmouth and him, they still didn't give Buffy enough trouble if she found the time to go around making new friends.

Meanwhile, Willow pulled Xander closer to her so that there'd be a large empty spot next to Buffy's seat. Not the most subtle move, but very effective. After the customary greetings and whatever babble those children considered polite talk these days, Buffy smiled politely and made to stand up. But before she could escape, Willow gripped her wrist and sent her a 'look'. Angelus had seen that look before, when the redhead had decided to give him and the Watcher a lecture on how to treat a teenage Slayer. Sighing, Buffy nodded at her friend and Angelus' nostrils flared in disappointment that a Slayer would be pushed around by a mere girl. How the mighty could fall.

Smiling a suddenly enthusiastic grin to the new addition to the table - Ryan, he'd introduced himself to Xander - Buffy sat back down. Angelus narrowed his eyes as Buffy's expression brightened and her voice began sounding more animated as she kept conversing with the boy. Angelus saw her lips move fast, always lifted in a contented smile. The other boy smiled back just as happily. Willow was a second away from clapping and patting her own back in self-congratulation, while Xander sent daggers to the newcomer.

Now Angelus didn't even strain himself to understand the words, couldn't care less about whatever they were saying. Instead his eyes fixated solely on the movement of her lips. Their purplish tone, which combined so skilfully with her shirt and boots. Her tongue came out to lick her upper lip, did it purposely slowly, as if she didn't have a glass of Coke to wet a dry lip, and if at her side Xander wasn't practically pushing another into her hands. But Buffy spared her friend no attention; she was too focused on her latest Chemistry partner. Her head was tilted sideways, her hair swept away so that it left her neck bare to any male's view. Her hands were carefully positioned towards Ryan, only inches away from his arm, while fingers played restlessly with a napkin.

Angelus had to chuckle when Buffy leaned her body towards the boy in apparent interest, a feminine strategy since Eve walked Earth. How fickle was a woman, not a week ago she'd been weeping in her bed for her lost boyfriend, and now... Now her whole body screamed that she was free and available; and Ryan was certainly getting the message. Poor fool. That girl wasn't free by any means, as if a couple of fights and murdered friends could truly make her forget. Her kiss had showed him that her memories were still alive. She may have been possessed, but the ghosts had left their bodies before their kiss ended. She had tasted like love during those short instants, just as sweet and poisonous, and now she was laughing like a silly schoolgirl with some random boy?

He frowned. Something wasn't adding up here. A second later he discovered what was bugging him. Her eyes. Buffy's eyes had always betrayed her. Love and distrust. Lust and fear. Soul or not he could read them like one of his favourite books. Now her eyes were focusing on anything but the boy in front of her. Once to the stage, or the bar, or the second floor. Any other time he'd have said she was looking out for potential danger, but now... No. Now she was searching for something specific. Or someone.

And then it dawned on him. Angelus laughed, so hard that a few heads turned in his direction. He paid them no mind and went back to his Slayer-gazing. That girl was playing with fire, did she realise what her actions entailed? Did she truly understand it? She was practically dangling little Ryan like live bait in front of him. What did she think she'd accomplish? He flashed back to a night a couple weeks ago. Her, sitting at her windowsill as she oh so slowly shredded each of his presents and threw the pieces onto her yard. Back then, she'd known he would be watching, was she aware of his presence now? She had to know it was a possibility that he'd be here. If this truly was a strategy to draw him into her reach, she should know. It would be extremely simplistic an idea, but for a beginner it wasn't such a bad plan. Just her luck that in these games he was a couple centuries ahead of her.

Now she swung her feet back and forth, drawing Ryan's attention first to the mauve boots, then up her mostly bare legs. Xander actually poked the guy's arm, and Ryan had the decency to look ashamed. Buffy just laughed the episode off, followed by Willow. But apparently Xander wasn't the least amused; he looked at the girls disbelievingly and then fixed the other boy with a glare that promised lots of pain if his eyes strayed so far again. Angelus' eyebrow rose; that look had probably been learned when he and Buffy were still a couple. If he had a penny for every time he'd been the one to catch Xander's eyes roving over his girlfriend's figure... Back then the kid's last thought had been of friendship, and now, here he was, playing chaperone. Angelus only needed to glance at Buffy's expression to know that no chaperoning was necessary. She was playing her part smoothly, an excellent performance of normal schoolgirl interested in normal schoolboy. Angelus himself had almost bought it. No wonder her friends had fallen so easily.

He settled back on his chair comfortably and followed the events, now more amused than intrigued. After a rather clumsy attempt to court Buffy, Ryan turned to the packed dance floor, then looked back at her with hopeful eyes. She first resisted, shaking her head but smiling in what should be illegal encouragement. Seeing how easily she was manipulating her date, Angelus had to concede her some extra points. He truly hadn't considered her capable of it. She, that shy little girl who'd hesitated for weeks before asking him on a date. That same girl was now standing up in a fluid motion that drew both Ryan's and Xander's eyes like magnets to her body. She extended her hand towards Ryan with a sheepish smile. When he took it, that smile blossomed into a full come-hither one that made Xander's jaw drop and Ryan follow her like a lost puppy - or a lamb to the slaughterhouse. Somehow, to Angelus that last description sounded more appropriate.

Buffy and Ryan never noticed the loud slap that Willow gave Xander's forearm to shake him out of the daze Buffy had provoked. Neither did they notice when the friends at the table began squabbling back and forth. Angelus saw Xander's eyebrows furrow in anger, while Willow stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest. They were probably discussing Ryan's appearance at the Bronze and Willow's involvement in it; but Angelus ignored them as he followed the new couple across the room.

First they danced to an upbeat song, arms loose around their bodies in what passed as dancing these days. Then the guitarist on the stage nodded at some unknown signal from the public and began a slower tone. Angelus could bet where that signal had originated. Indeed, there was Xander berating his oldest friend while the redhead ignored him and alternated between staring lovingly at the green-haired guitarist and then fondly to the dance floor. Angelus followed her example, only not nearly as fondly.

Couples started to slip into each other's arms and among them, there was Ryan, looking at his new friend with an inviting expression. Angelus tutted disapprovingly when Buffy's eyes widened in alarm as the romantic notes began to fill the air. If she wanted to prove how over him she was, that second alone would have given her up. But she valiantly recovered and made her arms thread around her partner's neck. Even thought she was the only girl on the Bronze's dance floor whose head wasn't resting comfortably on a guy's shoulder, she still managed to look very cosy. Ryan's hands, situated over her mauve shirt, tried to pull Buffy's body fuller into their embrace, but she simply smiled and distracted him with some inane talk of their current Chemistry project.

Angelus leaned back as he studied Buffy. Coming to the club and letting her friends set her up.... No. She was letting her friends _think_ they were setting her up. Angelus recognised the hunter in her even over this distance, and he was convinced that she'd marked her prey long before Willow had called Ryan over. A true schemer lay hidden under all that talk of goodness and responsibility. Angelus wanted to see how far he could take her. Only this night he had discovered that she'd lied, faked and mercilessly manipulated her friends and an innocent bystander. He smiled in satisfaction; he'd known there was a good reason for this new quest of his, that having Buffy at his side was worth the hassle of welcoming her inherent world-saviour complex. Tonight she'd proven him right.

After a moment, the couple went back to their table. Willow winked at her blonde friend, while Xander fumed on the sidelines. Buffy rolled her eyes at both reactions and chose to say her goodbyes. Ryan stuck by her side and wouldn't let her to say goodbye to him. Finally Buffy smiled thankfully and allowed him to accompany her.

Angelus took his time before following them. After all, there was only one direction they could take: Revello Drive. In a place as crowded as the Bronze, it was natural that Buffy couldn't pinpoint his exact position, but on the near empty streets? She wouldn't let him spy on her properly. So he let them go and instead focused on the brunette who'd been trying to attract his attention for the last hour. He smiled pointedly at her, and the girl blushed brightly before taking a deep breath and rising from her seat to come to him. He complimented her mechanically, and the girl giggled as she took it as invitation to sit across him. Dumb females were Sunnydale's specialty, as if the Hellmouth somehow drew not only demons, but also their favourite menu. Angelus went easily through the motions, asking her outside for some privacy and inwardly rolling his eyes at her enthusiastic response.

Once he had finished, he set for Buffy's house. Midway, he found Ryan on his way back to the Bronze. Practically skipping along the pavement, the boy smiled goofily as he wiped his mouth with his hand. Angelus understood the cause for the show of happiness when he noticed the small smear of mauve on the back of Ryan's hand. It made sense, under the current teenage code, without a goodnight kiss it didn't count as a date. Oh, but Buffy needed to find a better brand of lipstick. Angelus followed the distracted boy, a bit surprised that there was no Slayer to see his safe return to the club. How careless of Buffy, throwing a bait in his path and then being absent when it was time to reel him in. Shame on her, really.

Angelus accelerated, easily reaching the boy. In a flash he was in front of Ryan, eyes fixed on that beating pulse at his jugular. As any other student, the Slayer had to learn of her mistakes. Personally, Angelus would be pleased in teaching her the lesson this time.

* * *

**The End**  
02/11/05

* * *

**Feedback **is good. Also, if you want a peek into what Season Three will look like in this universe, check Lenidrabbles at ff dot net. The story you're looking for is **_'The Hard Way'._**


End file.
